The Landsmeet
by Kendoka Girl
Summary: The Warden's lust for vengeance comes to a head and intrigue flows from behind the scenes in the grab for the throne.  Told from multiple POV's and a continuation of the ongoing tale as left off with Loghain's Push.
1. Threats and Promises

Posting for my wife, who is away for work for a few days. She's got some more in the hopper and thanks everyone for their support. I'm just the beta. Any suggestions and input are most welcome.

**CODEX:**

_Combatant _– heraldic term for two rearing animals facing each other

**Denerim ****in the Royal Palace**

This was the moment she had longed for and dreaded for so long.

They came there under the banner of parley, unarmored and bearing only sword and dagger for defense. Alice wore an emerald green dress, the color of Highever, with a broach bearing the two-headed griffon and Alistair wore a red and gold doublet, emblazoned with the _combatant_ wolves of House Theirin. The Warden bit her lip as she adjusted Starfang in its scabbard at her hip. It was about the only thing that gave her strength at this moment. That, and the man by her side. She reached out and grasped his arm momentarily in her doeskin gloved palm.

The _tromp_ of boots grew louder and louder and the Warden gritted her teeth as the man who murdered her house and family grew closer and closer. She fought down a wave of nausea in her gut as she looked upon his face, her hate and venom focused right between his eyes as if her rage alone would shoot through his skull like an arrow. Her muscles twitched and she placed the palm of her hand on Starfang's grip. Another's hand covered hers.

"Stay calm, love." It was Alistair. "This is neither the place nor the time."

"Promise me it will be soon," she whispered back.

"I swear it."

The Warden worked spit up into her mouth to ward off the sour taste on her tongue and nodded slowly, letting her hand fall back to her side. Then, the enemy stood before them – Regent Loghain, Ser Cauthrien and he, the butcher himself. The three were dressed as royalty in silk doublets, lined with fur and wearing golden livery collars of office. Howe had the audacity to wear the chain of the Teyrn of Highever and, if she could have, the Warden would have ripped it from his neck.

She could not watch as Arl Eamon bowed low before Loghain and spouted pleasantries and the regent was nothing but bombast as she had always known him to be. When the regent spoke of his leadership in the army, she could hold her tongue no longer. "Like you _led_ in Ostagar? You've lost your touch…regent. Perhaps it is time to retire," the Warden said and then reached into her pouch. She held up the livery collars of Bann Pelham and Ser Sinton along with those of a dozen more bann, captured from the rout of Loghain's army at Castle Telmen. "Do you want these back?" she said with a provocative wink at Ser Cauthrien.

Cauthrien bristled, her hand moving to the grip of her sword and the Warden obliged, following suit. "I'll have your head, Warden!"

Alice was ready. If she had to kill here, then so be it. Consequences be damned. "You remember Starfang, don't you? She'd love to see you again."

Loghain was too smart and too experienced to take the bait of a hotheaded girl. He subtly shifted his body to stand between the Warden and Cauthrien, diffusing the imminent bloodshed. "Ah, Eamon, I see you have found a new follower for your cause." He pursed his lips and made a curt bow to her. "Lady Cousland." He then turned back to the arl and crossed his arms in a grand gesture. "I hope you have recovered, Eamon," he said in mock courtesy, "but, it is said that you no longer have the wits to advise Ferelden. _Feeble_ was the word used."

"Recovered from _your_ poison, regent? Yes, even your agent, this…this Jowan, revealed all. Your tool has been quite useful, you know. And, my recovery, it was quite a miracle, I assure you," Eamon replied with a nod to the Warden. "As I assure you that I am quite fit." The arl's mood darkened several shades before he continued. "Let us take this before the Landsmeet and see who sides with Ferelden against your sycophants."

Loghain snorted. "It had been a long time since you've been to Court, Eamon. The landscape of Ferelden has changed considerably as have opinions. The Court knows where its bread is buttered and who will keep them safe. It is only when rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf do the people sleep securely in their beds at night," he said with a thump on his chest. "And for that, I have men such as Rendon Howe," he added, staring directly at the Warden, "the Arl of Amaranthine and the Teyrn of Highever."

Alice didn't twitch. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Howe chuckled his smarmy chuckle. "And, don't forget the Arl of Denerim now too after what happened to poor Urien at Ostagar. Pity. The regent is most kind to those with loyalty."

The Warden stuck her tongue out and then curled it up. "So, bootlicking is profitable, eh?"

Howe stepped back and laughed, but Cauthrien exploded. "Watch yourself, churl! Your Grace, let me run her through. I'll avenge our men that she butchered."

"I spared them…the prisoners. No heads on pikes. No drawing and quartering…this time. That's for another group."

"Enough," the regent said, holding his hand up to keep Cauthrien back. Loghain seemed impressed by the Warden's mercy. His expression softened and he nodded, almost as a thanks. He looked at Eamon's party, one by one, his penetrating gaze stealing into each soul. "I had hoped to talk you all down from this rash course of action," he said, the earlier bombast having faded into genuine concern. "The people…our people are frightened. The king is dead and our land is under siege. We _must_ be united now, of all times now, if we are to endure this. King Maric, Queen Rowan and I worked tirelessly to bring Ferelden together. Let us not destroy this!" he said, his voice growing again to that of the roar of a lion.

Alistair stepped forward now, his finger nearly in Loghain's chest. "_You're_ the one who divided Ferelden. You betrayed King Cailan. I saw his stripped and frozen body after the battle, crushed and filled with arrows. I was the one who sent our king to his final rest after you ran like a coward."

The regent snarled, his earlier fire returning. "I was not talking to _you_, pretender."

Eamon huffed, but still remained the cool politician. "I cannot forgive you for what you have done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker will, but not I. The people need a ruler of the Theirin bloodline. _Prince_ Alistair has declared for the throne. He will rule Ferelden. He will lead us to victory."

Alistair grasped the Warden's hand. The enormity of the situation seemed to be sinking in on him. "Oh, is that all I have to do, huh? No pressure there." She felt for him with the weight of Ferelden's future hanging on his success or failure. It was not a small load to bear.

Loghain's patience was wearing thin. "The Emperor of Orlais also thought he could destroy Ferelden. If you continue to threaten our kingdom, expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is _nothing_ I would not do for my homeland," he said and turned on a dime, leaving the party watching their departure. Cauthrien turned back and made eye contact with the Warden. There was an understanding between the two woman warriors – there would be an end to this thing soon and only one would walk away.

Eamon adjusted his flatcap and gave an irreverent smirk. "That was…rather bracing. I did not expect the regent to show his hand so soon. We need to find allies and show Loghain's duplicity. We will need eyes and ears in the city to that end."

Alice could feel the heat flow from her face as she watched Howe disappear through the doors. Many had fallen to her sword, Gaxkang the Unbound, Flemeth and even a High Dragon, but there was only one monster that needed to taste her steel. She glanced back and forth with Alistair and Morrigan and a smile crossed her painted lips. "Eyes and ears, Arl Eamon, I think we have that covered."

"Really? You surprise me, Warden."

"I have friends in low places. We will not want for information."

"Good. That will be good indeed. Just to let you know, Connor and Amethyne are getting along splendidly. My own guards are seeing to their safety."

"Your guards, Arl Eamon? I thought my former werewolves were Amethyne's security."

"About that…I sent them on an errand back to Soldiers Peak. Do not worry. Your daughter will come to no harm under my supervision."

Something gnawed at Alice's gut, but she couldn't quite place it. "Please remember, my lord, Amethyne is _my_ daughter."

"I shan't. Now, let us focus on the task at hand. We must find the root of Loghain's schemes and turn them to our advantage. Find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. We must know who will support us."

"And then, we will have justice."


	2. The Hand of Righteousness

**W/N - **I wasn't sure which POV to use on this one so I went with the Warden again. We'll look at Anora and Loghain too as we draw towards the final confrontation. I loved the costuming in The Tudors and I try to draw a bit of inspiration from that in dressing the characters. A little bit of Alistair and Shale humor too. And, a warm thank you for all of your support!

I think work is finally back under control. I went somewhere and did some crazy stuff, but I'm worn out.

**Denerim ****at the Estate of Arl Eamon Guerrin**

The tension from the meeting in the Royal Palace had long since worn off and had evaporated into listless ennui. In the office of the grand estate, Arl Eamon's lecture about their strategy at the Landsmeet had grown tiresome for the Warden and only Alistair seemed intent on the droning monologue anymore. The glow in Shale's eyes had grown dark, Wynne's head was down on a desk, and Morrigan snored openly. The Warden rubbed her tired face, worried about Amethyne, who remained behind in Redcliffe. Eamon told her that it was too dangerous for her to be in Denerim and his best guards would see to her safety. Thus far, the arl had been an ally, but could she say a trusted one? She sent messengers to Soldiers Peak to receive a report from her former werewolves, but no word had yet been sent back. She kept telling herself that it was still too soon. The temptation to send Leliana and Zevran to the arl's castle was quite strong, but the Warden knew that the team was needed here, in Denerim.

Alice had grown concerned about Eamon's growing influence over Alistair. At first, the prince seemed defiant and even stood his ground, but Eamon did not hold back in using charm and ego building to swing Alistair solidly into his camp.

"Isn't that right, Prince Alistair?" The arl said with a beaming smile. The man was dressed to impress, wearing a magnificent blue satin doublet that was laced in ermine with gaudy red slashes along the back and shoulders.

Alistair nodded. "But of course, my lord."

The Warden scrunched up her face and silently mimicked the conversation, mouthing the words, "_Isn't that right, Prince Alistair? But of course, my lord._"

"Warden, did you have something to say?" Eamon asked.

"Oh me? No, I was just rehearsing a song for the evening feast. Pray, continue, my lord," she said as she used her quill to scratch out doodle drawings of Eamon and Shale. With a toothy smile, she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands and refocused on the strategy for the Landsmeet. The Warden had to admit that the politics of Ferelden were often beyond comprehension and the shifting alliances among the Bannorn was treacherous as best. In spite of her boredom, she thought it best to pay attention from here on in.

The arl was about to speak again when the heavy wooden doors to the office swung open and two knights in the livery of Redcliffe entered and bowed low. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but there is something I believe you need to hear," one announced. The Warden looked over to see an elven woman behind them, struggling to get past.

Eamon held up his hand and beckoned her in with pull of his fingers. "You are the queen's handmaiden, are you not? Come, child. I regret I cannot recall your name at the moment."

The elf pushed through the knights and then smoothed out her orange gown. "I am Erlina," she said in a distinctive Orlesian accent. "I have no where else to turn. I come to you, Arl Eamon, to ask you to rescue my Queen, Anora, who is being held against her will by Teyrn Howe."

The Warden bristled at the mention of that name and title and stood up sharply, knocking her quill and paper aside. "What? You mean that Howe has imprisoned Anora? To what end?"

"He is power mad, I tell you. I think he means to grab the crown for himself. He even refused envoys from the regent and I've heard him talking to himself about this."

Eamon moved to stand beside Erlina. "Howe hasn't the blood to take the throne. That's not even possible…unless…."

The same thought seemed to strike all of them at the same time and they looked to Erlina. Even Morrigan was awake now and Shale's eyes beamed bright. The elf nodded as if she knew their thoughts. "Yes, the teyrn sent for a revered mother from the Chantry. This is necessary for a-"

"Marriage," Eamon and the Warden said in unison. The arl stepped back and put his finger to his gray bearded chin. "This changes everything and we don't have much time," he said, his face taking on a dark tone. "Erlina, did the revered mother arrive at Howe's estate yet?"

"No, but she is on her way. Sers, I heard horrible screaming down in the teyrn's basement and I fear for my life. If I did not sneak out, I think I may be down there now too with those unfortunate souls."

The Warden put her hand on Erlina's back. "You did the right thing in coming to us. Arl Eamon, perhaps this is a good sign that a wedge has been driven between Loghain and Howe."

"Perhaps," he said, nodding slowly. "Perhaps. Though I wish we had more time to prepare. Once the revered mother arrives, she will have to chant for several hours before the ceremony can even begin. However, once the ceremony is complete, the marriage can be recorded in the rolls of Ferelden royalty and Howe could declare himself Prince Regent, a king in all but name."

Alice's face flushed red at the thought of Howe becoming ruler of the kingdom. She would die sooner than have that happen. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out the pleats of her crimson dress. "How much time do we have?"

Eamon shrugged. "We may have until nightfall. Four hours…five or six at the most. I think we have to take the gambit and rescue the queen."

Alistair stepped in now. "Rescue her? But isn't she our enemy? Who knows what part she played in all of this?"

"My brother, Bann Teagan, thinks that she could be useful if we brought her to our side. We could use her as a hostage to force Loghain down or even pressure her to denounce him."

The prince snorted, a little of his defiance returning. "I may not trust Anora as far as I could throw her…which is actually kind of far, come to think of it…. Oh, nevermind, you get the picture. But, that's not very sporting is it, my lord. I would like to think of ourselves as above such tactics. We are the _good guys_, after all, aren't we?"

"Hostage," the Warden added. "I don't like the sound of that either."

Eamon gave them an impatient bow. "This is the real world, good people. We do whatever is necessary for the good of Ferelden. And, mind you, Howe and Loghain have never been _above such tactics._" He turned back to the handmaiden before anyone else could speak. "Erlina, can you get us into Howe's estate?"

"I can. I…I don't want to go back there, but…but if you can help my lady, I will do it. I will go back and make preparations for you. I don't think they will have noticed my departure yet. Most of the teyrn's guards are just thugs. They don't seem very attentive or very smart. You must meet me in the orchard, just near the front of the estate. I can get you in from there," the handmaiden said. Then, she pointed to Shale. "That one though, the big scary rock. It cannot go."

The golem bristled, her eyes turning a fierce orange, causing Erlina to jump back. "_I_ am _not_ a rock," she said, making a stone fist at the elf. "Does _it_ wish to be squished like a bug?"

Erlina put her palms out in apology. "I am so sorry. I meant no offense. I just meant that _you_ would attract too much attention."

Shale's eyes faded back into a calm bluish-green and she curled the end of her stone mouth up. "Well, I suppose that mushy blob it calls a brain couldn't help itself from being made a fool of. I will let it remain unsquished for the good of the group…for now."

The Warden sighed. Shale had proved to have incredible intimidation factor and packed a wallop in her fists, but Erlina was right. This would be a job for squishy organics. Besides, now was the time for boldness. Her sworn enemy was finally within reach and she could not falter now. For all of the innocent blood that Howe had spilled, there would be justice. In but a moment the Warden went into battle mode and her lips pressed firmly together, her eyes steeled against the coming confrontation. "Wynne, gather our potions. Alistair, we'll need plenty of bolts and arrows. Oghren, care to show some people their innards?"

The dwarf blew out a tooth rattling belch and gave her a wide grin. "Well, what'r we waiting for? Let's get dressed for the dance," he said as he began strapping his black Legion greaves over his shins.

The two Redcliffe knights and the arl escorted Erlina out the back as Wynne and Alistair rushed back to their quarters to retrieve supplies. When Erlina was out of sight, the Warden leaned over to Morrigan. "This seems all too convenient," she whispered to the witch. "Send word to Leliana and Zevran. We're going to need them on this one. Tell them where to meet us."

"T'is a wise choice. I shall send for them right away," Morrigan said and sped from the office.

That only left Shale and Sten in the office with Alice. "Shale, keep an eye on the arl…no squishing. Just let me know what's going on. And Sten, get my hound and meet us at the sally port. We're going to get some payback."

"Asit tal-eb, Kadan…it is the way things are meant to be."

And then, she was alone - alone in her thoughts which whirled like a maelstrom in her head. A volcano of rage threatened to burst from her chest and she fought it down with short, gasping breaths. "I know better," she whispered as she held her eyes closed tight. "I've got to keep my head. Father, where are you? I could use your help about now." She held the pendant that her spectral father had given her atop the mountain and pulled the golden chain taut about her neck. Then, she felt a hand brush her cheek and she dared not open her eyes.

"Your mother and I are with you, pup. Remember to follow your heart and that vengeance is not worth your soul."

A shudder swept through Alice's body and she bit her lip, feeling a drop of water roll down her cheek. Strong, but gentle fingers adjusted the jeweled hood over her dark hair, tucking errant locks back in place. She opened her mouth, letting air rush back into her lungs and her eyes shot open to find nothing but emptiness in front of her. Her hand reached out, searching for any substance, but she knew there would be none, the warmth of the pendant upon her breast the only sign left of her father's presence. She felt her knees wobble and she sank to the floor, but felt a strange sense of power and strength…and even hope. Prostrating herself on the ground, the Warden kissed the stone tiles. "Thank you, father. Thank you, Maker. May my hand be guided by your righteousness."


	3. Mawwiage, a dweam wiffin a dweam

**W/N - **Invoking a bit of the Princess Bride. Poor Anora. I think we'll look at Loghain and Rendon too in the next parts.

A great merci beaucoup for all of your support!

**A****t the Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

A lot has been said about power – it can be the ultimate aphrodisiac or the ultimate corrupter. And, once in hand, can be the most difficult thing to relinquish. Though still dressed as one of power, a bejeweled tiara atop her brow, Queen Anora put her head down into her hands, shaking with barely controlled anger at how she had been outmaneuvered by Rendon Howe. Mere months ago, she and her father wielded near absolute power as far as the banner of the Regent could reach. Using every ounce of skill and guile available to her, Anora helped her father move the pieces on the chessboard that was Ferelden to bring peace back to the kingdom. But, something went wrong…terribly wrong. Even the ravens on the window sills mocked her impotence.

She heard the footsteps of the arl's carefully selected handmaidens rush towards her.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?"

She held out a hand and flicked her fingers. "Away from me." They couldn't help her. They were just spies for Howe anyway. The fiend had removed her most trusted lady in waiting, Erlina, and replaced the elf with his own daughter's attendants. As the handmaidens scurried back, Anora wondered what had become of Delilah Howe since it appeared that the woman no longer needed servants. In what world was it possible for Delilah and Rendon to be, in any way, related? The daughter was delightful, gentle and kind while the father was nothing short of an abomination.

The Queen looked around the chamber, which was nothing more than a glorified prison cell, hoping to see some way out. But, in the week that she had been 'confined for her own safety' there had been no opportunities to escape. The walls were built of smooth, whitewashed stone and metal bars ran through the glass windows in an intricate crisscross pattern. The final shred of hope evaporated when Howe had his mage put a glyph, using her blood, on the door to bar her passage. In the dead of night, she would try to sneak to the door while the handmaidens were away, but the locks would not yield to her touch nor would it allow anyone to open it unless they had the enchanted key. Truly, a gilded cage.

"A blood glyph," Anora mumbled to herself. "So Howe is consorting with blood mages now? He has gone too far. My father must see the arl's scheming for what it is – it's as plain as day." She turned and pointed to the redhead maid, the most senior of the three ladies. "Bekka, did you take my letters to my father? Why hasn't he responded? Tell me."

The plain maid, dressed in simple black and white with a black cloth hood, bowed, her face inscrutable. "Yes, Your Highness. They were delivered to the palace. I cannot tell you why he has not responded."

Anora had been in this game long enough to know that she was lying. She realized now that sending the letters was foolish – they were surely intercepted by Howe and showed how desperate she was becoming. She stifled a grunt of frustration, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing her growing fear. For the first time in her life, she could not smile, think or charm her way out. Anora wracked her mind, playing out multiple scenarios in her head, most of them unfortunately leading to disaster. The spreading understanding that Howe had betrayed the Mac Tirs and even Ferelden did not help her tightening gut. At the moment, she could not help but think of her father, whom she had loved and cherished, as a fool. She tried to speak to him, tried to warn him, but he was so blinded by hatred of Orlais that he would cut off his nose to spite his face. If there was one wise thing that her gallant husband, King Cailan, had done, it was to foresee that the Darkspawn incursion was truly a Blight and her father had likely destroyed Ferelden's ability to resist. In her despair, it dawned on the Queen that she missed the King…missed him dearly, the dashing knight errant. It was the most difficult of things to embrace, but she had to now believe that her father had betrayed her husband unto death. Waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm her and her corset choked off her breathing.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?"

The Queen paused for a moment and straightened the pleats in her long, golden skirt, smoothing them down. Composure…composure was key for royalty. This is what set the highborn apart from the rabble. "Yes, I am well," she said as her mind continued to churn on ways to escape.

Maybe, the best approach was the direct approach. "Bekka, I wish to see Arl Howe at once. Tell him the Queen wishes…no, _demands_ his presence."

Bekka seemed taken aback and bowed. "Your Highness, the teyrn is indisposed at the moment. I cannot-"

"What do you mean, _you cannot_?" Anora said, the incredulousness of her voice cutting as sharp as a knife. "I am the Queen of Ferelden and the daughter of the Regent. Bekka, Nan, Madge, you _will_ go immediately or an ugly fate will surely await you all in Fort Drakon," she added, switching to chilling coldness for effect.

The color drained from the three ladies' faces and, without another word, they rushed from the chamber, opening the glyphed door with a key. When she could no longer hear footsteps, Anora snuck up to the entryway and tried the handle, but it had been relocked. She shook the handle more vigorously, hoping that her efforts would reward her, but a tiny arc of electricity shot from the door and shocked her.

"Maker's breath!" she uttered in horror and pain. She truly was a prisoner here. Then, she stepped back, her mind racing again. She might only have minutes before someone returned. "Think, think, think." An idea struck the Queen suddenly and she rushed back and picked up the small knife that had been used to cut her apples and cheese. Just as Anora was about to try her luck again at the door, footsteps could be heard in the far hallway. "Damn."

Howe's voice could just be heard now, shrill and demanding, but Anora could not make out the words. A key went into the lock and the tumblers grinded over. Just as the door opened, she slid the cheese knife down her dress between her bosoms. Howe stepped into the chamber, his black leather boots clicking on the stone tiles. The first thing the Queen noticed about him was his leering, superior smile and then…the white satin doublet, hemmed in gold and silver and the golden livery collars of Amaranthine, Highever and Denerim around his neck. "Arl Howe," the Queen said with a nod of her head and then returned to an upright posture, her chin held high.

Howe merely nodded his head in return, a motion far too familiar for one of his station to play against a royal. And that grin, that grin just wouldn't go away. He opened the door wider and two guards and a mage entered, followed by the three maidservants and the Revered Mother of Denerim, who wore a magnificent robe of red and orange with the symbol of the burning sun encircled on her breast.

Anora stepped back and clutched the handle of the knife under her dress. What was the Revered Mother doing here? Did she come to administer Last Rights as she had done for other nobles before they lost their heads on the gallows? Howe wouldn't dare execute her…would he? Anora began to wonder if she would have to use the knife, either on someone else or even herself. She would sooner take her own life than kneel at the block for the headsman. Again, she had to compose herself and curtsied before the distinguished old woman. "Your Grace."

The Revered Mother looked tired, pale and even afraid. The Queen had known her long enough to see that something was wrong. "Your Highness," the Mother said with a bow. "I have come to oversee your…marriage to Teyrn Howe."

Anora's eyes opened wide, now fully understanding the depths of Howe's depravity. "Marriage?"

Rendon stepped forward, his teeth glistening behind an evil grin. "Yes, my Queen. It is the next natural step in the evolution of our relationship, is it not?"

"You're mad!"

The man chuckled as if expecting that response. "Mad with love for you, my sweet."

"Where is my father? What does he have to say about this? I demand to speak to him."

"Oh, yes," he said, drawing out the words for effect. "He is far too busy working on his strategy for the Landsmeet. Poor man, it seems that his intelligence network has sent him off in all sorts of wrong directions, chasing ghosts of all things. Terrible, really."

"You mean _your_ intelligence network," she countered, fighting to keep her knees from wobbling. She had to try a different tactic. "The Regent will have your head, Rendon. Let me go now and we'll forget this ever happened."

Howe waved one of the guards forward and the strawberry blonde woman placed some documents on the desk. The arl put his finger to his chin as if thinking. "Uh…no, I think we'll proceed. Before we begin our wedded bliss together though, you should sign these papers."

The female guard kneeled and held out a quill for the Queen. "Your Highness," she said in a distinctly Orlesian accent tinged with a bit of Denerim. When Anora refused to take the pen, the guard laid it on the desk next to the papers.

The Queen sat with a huff and began reading. "What? I freely and willingly enter into this matrimonial arrangement and hereby, through the powers vested in me, declare Rendon Howe to be the Prince Regent of Ferelden and hold his heirs to be the heirs of the Crown. And, should I, Queen Anora, predecease him, he will," she read and then choked, "rule the kingdom in my stead." Though she was too much of a realist to be a firm believer in the Maker, she glanced over to the symbol of Andraste on the Burning Cross and a heartfelt prayer ran through her mind.

Howe stroked the soul patch on his chin. "Simple, but elegant, don't you think?"

"And what if I refuse? What then? Did you think of that?"

"Of course. Pray, continue on to the other documents."

Anora flipped over the marriage proposal and began to read the next parchment. Her blood ran cold. "Treason?"

"Actually, that would be _High Treason_, Anora. I have signed affidavits from witnesses, testifying to how you convinced poor King Cailan to march to his death and how you manipulated Teyrn Loghain to betray the King."

"What? This is ludicrous." The Queen's famed composure was unraveling. "Who are these witnesses? They are lying!"

"Oh, dear lady, several of the Bann and other individuals confessed upon my questioning that they had conspired with you to this end. You will see that all of the documents are in order, properly signed and legally correct. However, with you as my wife, I could forget that ever happened."

An involuntary tremor shook Anora's body. Even as the Queen, she could be burned on the cross for High Treason. Trapped in the castle, her pawns, knights and bishops gone, she was near checkmate. A sudden idea flashed in desperation and she seized the papers as if to tear them and stood up tall. "I could rip these up right now and your evidence is gone, you villain."

Howe didn't skip a beat. He knew all of her responses before she even gave them. "Copies," he said with a yawn. "The originals are kept in my office downstairs. We will become intimate one way or another, either in my bedchambers or in the dungeon, the choice is yours. Anora, how it would break your father's heart to have you broken on the rack and burned on the cross. Would he not prefer to see you wed again? Think of Ferelden, my dear."

It was finally too much and the Queen sank back into her chair, dizzy with fear and despair. "What's to keep you from killing me once I declare you Prince Regent?"

He came around behind her and massaged her shoulders. He leaned in and put his lips right to her ear and whispered, "Nothing."

Anora picked up the quill with a shaking hand and dipped the tip into the ink. She was out of options.

"That's it, my dear," Howe added, excitement building in his voice. "Add your name and the Revered Mother can begin the Chant of Light to sanctify our wedding."

The Queen scribbled her name on the marriage certificate and made Rendon Howe the effective ruler of Ferelden. "Take it, damn you."

He chuckled in mock sadness. "Tsk tsk, now is that any way to speak to your husband and King? I'll leave you with the Revered Mother. Best that you confess your sins while you still have the chance. We never know when we might die unexpectedly. I shall see you in a few hours, my Queen."

Try as she might, she couldn't stop a tear from rolling down her cheek and she bit hard onto her lower lip. There was nothing she could say.

The female guard took her hand momentarily. "Do not worry, Your Highness. It will all be alright," she said as she released the Queen's hand.

As the entourage left, leaving Anora alone with the Revered Mother, she noticed an object in her palm left by the guard – it was a coin, wrapped in Erlina's garter. Only when the door was secured did she dare look at it. At first, it only appeared to be a gold sovereign, but soon the image of King Maric faded, leaving the sigil of the double headed griffon.

"The Warden Commander…."


	4. The Greater Good

**W/N - **The plot unfolds and we'll look at Loghain. Will there be a seat for him in the end when the music stops? Anything is possible. Stress can grind down even the most iron of wills.

Many many thanks to EE, Josie, Ygrain, and Roxfox for your support! :D

**A****t the Royal Palace in Denerim**

Regent Loghain Mac Tir wiped his red eyes yet again and drank another mug full of that brown Kirkwall swill known as coffee that was all the rage in the Free Marches. That, and adrenaline, were the only things keeping him going through brain numbing exhaustion. Since the defeat of his army he had forced himself to keep going…to keep on his aching feet to rebuild, rearm and save Ferelden. He was no longer a young man and pushing himself to the limit, day after day, was becoming harder and harder. Words and lines on the maps and reports were beginning to blur and he realized that he had gone nearly thirty hours without sleep.

"Your Grace, you need to lie down." It was Cauthrien. Her face was drawn and her eyes drooped, a sign that she had been awake with him the whole time.

"I…I have to…solidify our strategy for the Landsmeet," he said slowly as if in a dark and never ending dream. "We must have the advantage over Eamon. I will not deliver the kingdom into his hands. I will not," he added, striking his open palm with a fist as he found more energy.

"Very well, but stop pacing and sit down then before you fall down."

Her brusque tone brought him back to the moment. She was one of the few who could stand up to him and he respected her for that. "Hah, you are right as always, Cauthrien," he said with a nod and then took a seat. He blinked heavily and then refocused on the intelligence reports from Rendon Howe. "It seems as if the Bann here in Denerim are solidly behind us so we need not worry about that quarter. Our primary concern is that the countryside will rise in arms and thus the army should encamp there as a show of force."

"I don't trust Howe and his information, Your Grace. He seems far too manipulative for his own good, I think."

The stress and strain of the conflict had weighed heavily on Loghain and even he knew that he wasn't thinking clearly, but Howe was one of his oldest allies. "I've known Rendon a long time, since before River Dane. He is not the most likeable man, but he serves the Crown."

"He serves himself. Whose idea was it to contract those Antivan Crows? Maker knows I want the Warden dead, but to stoop to such dishonor. And then, the attack failed, the Warden gained a valuable ally and even used the event as a rallying point against us. The whole plan backfired."

"Yes, but with his fighting at River Dane that day, Rendon gave great service to the King."

"That was King Maric, Your Grace. That was years ago. Rendon Howe is not the same man that you knew in the Orlesian campaign. He wants us to send the army away and leave Denerim weakly guarded."

Loghain knew that was true, but he still didn't want to believe it. After everything that they had done in the service of Ferelden to make a better place for high and low, human nature still won out – power, politics, revenge and ambition were still the order of the day. He wiped his face again, taking several deep breaths. The stress was taking its toll. If only they could all stay the course for a short time more. "We just have to hold, Cauthrien. Eamon will fold in the Landsmeet and then, by law, he and that bastard princeling will have to capitulate and we'll take their armies and crush the Darkspawn. This will all be over in weeks."

Cauthrien was unconvinced. "Your Grace, I beg you, have Howe watched. We have relied entirely on him for our intelligence and internal security. Why has he not come to the Council in the last few days? What about Anora? What about the Queen?"

"The Queen is safe from the spies and assassins of the Warden. You know I would not leave my own daughter to someone that I did not trust. Anora is the key to the future of Ferelden. It is the Warden and that wretch, Eamon, who are the true threats to the kingdom. We cannot do this without Howe. Come now, Cauthrien, what would you have me do, arrest him? You are my right hand, but Rendon is my left. The government cannot function without him."

"And that is just the way he designed it to be. Who removed Bryce Cousland from the game? Who made all of those troublesome nobles disappear? Who cowed the Chantry in Denerim? Maker knows I have loved you all of these years, Your Grace, but…are we destroying Ferelden to save it?"

It felt as if his head would split and his eyes would burst from the strain and, for a moment, he thought he would lash out to quiet any dissent. The weight of the world was finally breaking his shoulders. "Cauthrien! Enough!" he shouted, raising his gloved fist. He stared right into her eyes, the fire of his gaze fiercer than any dragon, but she did not flinch. This was the strong and brave woman who had saved his life, who had shared his darkest thoughts and his bed and whom he had pushed away in his obsessive pursuit of a secure and lasting kingdom. A shudder rolled through his chest as he finally took a breath and he lowered his hand, now ashamed at his anger. "I…I am sorry. Sometimes, we have to go to extreme measures in extreme circumstances," he said in his deep, rumbling voice. He opened his hand and stepped forward to embrace her, something he had wanted to do for such a long time, but Ferelden always seemed to come first in his heart.

For the first time, it was Cauthrien who stepped back though her eyes were now red and wet. "I understand, Your Grace. Ferelden first…even if it involves selling slaves to Tevinter. I held my tongue about this, but no longer." The edge of her lip curled up in anger and disgust.

How did she know? This was something that he never wanted her to know. War costs money and there were few ways of funding the raising of a new army. Extreme things had to be done for the greater good. But how did Cauthrien find out? The only ones in the inner circle who knew were he and Howe…. Loghain's eyes widened in horror. Like Bryce Cousland, he had been played.

"Cauthrien, no. Let me explain."

"Do not insult my intelligence." She held her hand up at first, but then her face softened. She looked into his eyes, awaiting his word. He could see how much she needed him to be that good and noble man, the Hero of Ferelden who stood for something greater than himself. But, all he had now were empty words.

"Cauthrien…I…," he began before guards burst into the royal offices, their boots striking the tile in perfect unison. In his fatigue and building paranoia, he half expected it to be Howe and his thugs, but it was the Royal Guard, dressed smartly in polished breastplates over scarlet uniforms. "What is it?" he asked, addressing the sergeant at arms, who wore a black flatcap bearing the livery of the King, two wolves, _combatant_.

"Your Grace, there is a disturbance at the estate of the Arl of Denerim."

"A _disturbance_?"

"A _battle_…within the manor, Your Grace. Some of Howe's men have fled and declare that they are under attack from the Warden."

"The Warden? Would she be so stupid as to incite violence under the banner of the Landsmeet? What madness would lead her to attack Teyrn Howe so openly?" He looked to Cauthrien, but her attention was already elsewhere.

"Come!" Cauthrien called, signaling to the guards. "Bring my armor quickly," she said as she began walking for the door. "Do not worry, Your Grace, I will suppress the rebels for you. I will take care of this," she added coldly without a look back.

Loghain wanted to call out to her, but he sat down and put his head in his hands for a moment. The currents of fate were carrying him out to sea and he was drowning.


	5. Knight Threatens King

**W/N - **We're on a roll and it will all come to a head soon...or someone will lose their head. Howe still has some aces up his sleeve though and he hopes to trump the Warden and the Regent. But, let it not be said that he doesn't have a heart somewhere in there.

Maker's Blessings on you all and a hearty merci beaucoup!

**A****t the Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

The sweetest fruit was the one that was eaten at the moment when it was most ripe, not before and not after. Regent Loghain had always thought of himself as the master statesman and general, but it was Rendon Howe who built the dark basement that held that castle up. It was Rendon Howe who did the dirty things that the Hero of Ferelden could not do himself. But, while he was mired in the filth of the underbelly of the kingdom, Rendon came to enjoy the darkness and it became his strength. And, with the Darkspawn came opportunity. He could build his own grand castle, one that would endure and outlast the Theirins or the Couslands or the Mac Tirs. True, it was now said that he was the most powerful man in Ferelden next to the Regent, having amassed the Arlings of Amaranthine and Denerim and the Teyrnir of Highever, but he had come to believe that there was no place for second best.

"I did this for you, Thomas…for your memory, Maker guide your soul." He made a cursory genuflection towards the burning cross of Blessed Andraste. Howe had always been a believer of convenience, seen in the Chantry when it suited him, but he would sell, marry or even kill anyone or anything that stood in the way of his family. Family was everything. With Thomas, his eldest, dead, Nathaniel would become the heir to the Crown. A Howe would be King.

"And you, Delilah, you will be a princess. I will give you riches and power beyond belief. All my life, I have worked for you, my children."

He held the royal marital contract and order of succession in his hand and knew that the fruit had ripened. With a wave of his fingers he summoned his entourage to follow him back to his basement office. Since _acquiring_ the estate of the Arl of Denerim, he preferred the lower chambers to the traditional upper ones. It suited the cloudy darkness in his heart more closely and it kept him closer to his _wards_ as he like to call them. Their screams of pain and terror had long since stopped bothering him and now, he likened it to music.

They descended the staircase into the basement and shrieks echoed through the halls, causing the members of the entourage to recoil. Howe merely chuckled and raised his finger to his temple. "Ah, an opera this afternoon. I hear a little bit of Oswyn, mixed with chorus of Vaughn and Rexel. Now…wait for it, the crescendo," he said with a satisfied sigh. "I miss having a soprano. The spy woman had such a wonderful voice. Heavenly, simply heavenly."

The female guard, the pretty one with pouty lips and short, strawberry blonde hair, quickened her step. "Your…Highness, whatever became of that woman?" she asked in her Orlesian accent.

"Good question, my dear. She may still be in the dungeon for all I know. If she is, I would very much like to have her sing again."

"Yes, that would be…nice," the woman said and then slowed to fall back in with the entourage.

All of this drudgery and politicking would soon come to an end. Even the rumors of the testimony of Bann Pelham to his having murdered the Couslands could be put to rest. Once the wedding was done and the act recorded in the rolls of Ferelden royalty Rendon would have the power to write the truth and shape reality. Everything was going as planned. Still, there were other moving parts in this orchestra that he needed to make sure were greased. As they arrived at the office he looked back at his secretary, a razor thin man with the face of a sour lemon. "Secretary Banastre, have our clerics arrived from Amaranthine?"

"Yes, Your Highness. With the Revered Mother's approval, they replaced the Denerim clerics this morning."

"She's been so much more cooperative since we welcomed her daughter to the Vigil. She's assured me that the Templars will be supportive. What of Fort Drakon?"

"The colonel has accepted your gifts and looks forward to his place in the new regime."

Rendon unlocked the door and ushered the new ministers of government in. He stood for a moment and raised his hand, thumb and forefinger touching as if conducting an orchestra. "Ah, every note has its place, does it not? The letter…the one that the Warden left in her handwriting when she tried to humiliate me…it's done?"

"Yes, Your Highness, we've altered it. It implicates her in the death of the Queen. We kept a Cousland dagger from Highever too. It should do nicely."

"Excellent. I'll do it myself, but not before I've blessed the royal bed and the bells of the Chantry ring in the new royal couple. Pity I won't be able to hear Anora sing in my choir first. Had this taken a different path, I could have used that evidence against the Queen to force the Regent's retirement and I'd still rule Ferelden."

The secretary handed Rendon a small cameo with a painting of Alice Cousland. "And Anora's bloody hand clutching this will seal the tribunal in our favor, since, after all, I will be the new Minister of Justice."

"Oh Maker, this will be the ultimate irony in that it will be _I _that will send that brat to the gallows as the criminal and not the other way around. I am conflicted about how to execute her, Banastre, my good man – hanging is still a front runner, but drawing and quartering seems appropriate too."

"Well, with quartering you get both."

Rendon flicked his fingers in the air gaily. "It's settled then. I knew I made you Minister of Justice for a reason. With the Warden branded a criminal, Eamon's bid at the Landsmeet will collapse and the Bann left in Denerim would be wise to back the winning horse. I saw what was left of the Regent's army march out of the city this morning, leaving the Denerim City Guard with the bulk of the forces here. Loghain would be wise to see the shift of power and I may even keep him on as _my_ Chancellor. After all, he is one of my oldest friends."

"And, one is nothing without friends. Speaking of which, I've contacted Lieutenant Kylon of the City Guard and he assures me of his loyalty."

"Ah, Banastre, this will be a night to remember."

The Secretary cocked his head as if listening. "One moment, Your Highness, did you hear that?"

"Hear what? Was it more music? Surely, you're used to my choir by now."

"It sounded like…fighting."

Howe held his breath for a second and thought he heard the ring of steel on steel. Before he could respond, the door crashed open and a soldier staggered in, a half dozen arrows stuck in his armor.

"My lords! We are under attack!" the man cried and then collapsed to the ground.

"What?" Rendon's mouth fell open and his eyes bulged wide. "Who would dare?"

As the Secretary cradled the soldier's head, the dying man gasped. "A sword…with the light of a star…. No one could stand before her," he said in a weakening voice.

Banastre looked back up, his face now pale and ashen. "This office in the basement, we're trapped here. There's no way out."

Howe stepped back involuntarily, a chill running down his spine. He knew who was coming for him. Who else had a sword like that? He wiped his lips several times, thinking, wracking his brains. What had happened? He had every angle covered. Every piece on the chess board fell into his pocket through fear or gold. Then, something came to him. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. "Banastre, we haven't come all this way to be defeated now just when the Crown is within our grasp. It is the Warden who is trapped. This is the excuse we've been waiting for and she tipped her hand. We'll stop her here and she and her whole rotten band will go to the gallows," he said with bolstering spirit as he grabbed his two short swords. "We'll just have to fudge the time of the wedding a little. Hand me my armor!"

Men sprung into action, drawing bows as Howe's mages took position behind some pillars. As Rendon swung on his suit of splinted mail he pointed to the female guard who had been with them. "You there, set the traps by the door and bolt it shut. Yes, you, what is your name?"

"They call me Leliana."


	6. Al of Stair

**W/N - **Bah, too much work again. Let's look at the outside of the estate and our brave heroes as they go in. I thought to do this in one chapter, but it will take a couple.

We saw the Tudors series finale! What a blowout. The ghosts and the scene with the pale horse were fantastic. I think the pale horse is coming for Howe.

**CODEX –**

Articulated plate – plate armor that has finely moving parts for the greatest range of motion

**A****t the Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

The crowd that had gathered in front of the manor house looked and sounded ugly. Sticks and even billhooks were brandished and nasty words were shouted at the direction of the house, demanding payment for services rendered in the repair of the estate and city walls that had been contracted by the arl. Harried guards tried to keep the mob back, but it was obvious that anger was starting to overflow into the city streets. This was just the sort of chaos that undermined Howe's grip in Denerim…the sort of chaos that provided opportunity.

Alistair crouched down behind the cart, waiting with his comrades for Erlina to arrive. He still simmered after the argument with Arl Eamon that happed just after the meeting. The arl tried to convince him not to go – _You are the last Theirin prince. What if you should perish? What then? There would be no more hope for Ferelden. _

But Alice needed his help. He had promised to stand by her side when she confronted that demon, Howe. _I cannot step aside now. What kind of prince am I if I abandon my promises?_

Alistair sighed, envisioning the spat. He regretted it now, but, in his haste to fulfill his promise he signed Eamon's documents. What ramifications would the princely declaration have for the future? He didn't want to think about it – it just hurt his head. Where were his puppets when he needed them?

Speaking of puppets, he turned to the witch who had been with them for so many months it was difficult to think of the time before her parade of caustic comments. "Umm, Morrigan, do you still have that…that puppet…of me?"

"Oh, you mean the one that I stick pins in? The one that Cyrano and I play fetch with? The one that I wipe my-"

Alistair recoiled, envisioning his likeness on the witch's nether parts. "Uh, nevermind. Sorry I asked."

"I was going to say window, but what were _you_ thinking?" Then, it seemed to dawn on her and she smacked him on the head. "Flemeth's ass, you are vile! And yes, I do still have it."

The prince blushed and pointed to the other side of the cart where Alice was sitting. "I'm…I'm just going to go sit over there now."

"T'is an excellent idea – the best one you've had yet."

He scooched over around Wynne and Sten and sat down besides the Warden. "Oh, hey, is this spot taken?"

As Alice watched the angry crowds, looking for a sign of Erlina, she patted the dirt and shook her head. "I was saving it just for you."

He chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. "You know, Morrigan still has that puppet of me. I think she got it on Feast Day, but I don't know who from. Someone was going around, giving out gag gifts and, one day, I'll find out who it was."

The Warden paused for a moment and her cheeks darkened several shades of red. "Oh, umm, I wonder. Maybe it was Sandal? He's quite the trickster, you know. I heard that Oghren got some soap on a rope and a rotten onion, which he actually ate."

"Sandal, hmmm, yes, he'd make a great culprit. He would never give up his secrets. All anyone would ever get out of him is-"

"_Enchantment!_" he and Alice said at the same time, eliciting laughter on both ends. He loved her laugh and her smile – it was like a lush, blooming rose atop a windswept mountain. He took her hand, but he found that he could no longer look her in the eye. The weight of his having signed the documents was too heavy for him.

Alice squeezed his hand and then turned his face back to hers, her gaze penetrating. "Something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes. I have not known you all this time to miss something like that."

He blew out a long breath. "Promise me."

"Promise you? Promise you _what_?"

"Promise me that you won't be angry."

She gave him that skeptical sideways glance. "Very well. I promise."

"I…uhh…I signed the order of succession, making Connor my heir. There, that wasn't so bad was it?"

Alice's face went blank and she didn't say a word.

Alistair squinted and scrunched up his face. "Say something, please. You can even say _Alistair, you fool_. It was kind of hasty. You know, I was in a rush and you were waiting and Eamon said that it was the right thing to do…you know, if I don't return or something like that."

"Alistair, what have you done? We were supposed to discuss this before anything was signed. Connor is a mage, Alistair. After what happened, you know he will have to go to the Circle."

"Yes, and about that…I…I signed a decree that would exempt him from the Circle."

"My Prince, I know you mean well and that, perhaps that is what is best for the future. But, you know that we cannot afford to alienate the Circle or the Templars now…not after everything that we went through to get their support. This was something that was best dealt with at a better time," she said, her eyes smoldering.

"I…I know. I know. We…I mean Eamon just had all of the answers. He had all of the documents prepared. I mean, should I happen to die, someone has to carry on for Ferelden, right? Eamon has agreed to be the Regent in that case, at least until Connor's maturity."

"I'm sure Eamon agreed," Alice said with resignation. "You are the true heir to the Throne, my prince. Do what you think is best," she added coldly. "There is no need to include me in your counsel. My family's honor is all I should be concerned about."

"No…no, don't be like that, please. I know I was a fool. I just wanted to fulfill my promise to you – to stand by your side when you faced Howe. I need you to understand."

She pressed her lips together. "We'll talk later. Erlina is coming."

For these many months, Alistair just wished that this whole affair was over, but, right now, all he wanted was a few more minutes. The elf crouched down behind the cart with them and pointed to a pathway around the side of the manor.

"I am sorry, it took me longer than I thought to sneak away with the guard uniforms. We must go around the side of the estate and through the garden. There is an entrance around on the other side."

Alistair saw the dark look on the Warden's face and felt that he should speak up and act the part of the prince. "Lead on. We'll follow you," he said as he pulled a plain cloak over Cailan's armor, covering the coat of arms and the symbol of the bull on the breastplate. Even after Master Wade had made the finest adjustments to the armor for the perfect fit of articulated plate the harness still felt far too big for the prince.

Erlina walked out nonchalantly, blending in with the crowd at the front door. Alistair fell in step with her, leading the group around the side. This was something that he needed to do. All his life, he had let fate lead him by the nose and dictate to him. He had tried to change that, but it was never about what Alistair wanted and he always seemed to fall short. For once in his life, he had something that he wanted…something real and it was just like him to mess it up. This time though, this time he would make it right. Leading seemed so natural to the Warden. If only he could be like that. He asked her once how she did it and she said in her whimsical voice, _stand in front, point the way, don't be scared._ Hah, if it were only that easy.

He could do it, he told himself over and over. At the corner of the building he and Erlina peered down the side path and he waved the group on. "This way," he said softly. "It's clear."

They hustled down the path to the garden until Erlina put her hand up. "There are sentries just ahead. Alistair, come with me. I will introduce you as a new guard. The rest can wait here until we are clear."

"Wait, we should bring Oghren for added effect. No one will believe that he is an infiltrator."

The dwarf belched on cue. "_Infiltrator_! I sodding love the sound of that. Oghren, the infiltrator!"

The three walked easily up the guards in the garden and Erlina bowed curtly to them. "The arl, he is hiring more men for the estate. I will take them to the barracks, yes?"

The sergeant put his hand out. "Hold on, missy. No one goes anywhere without my say so. You there," he said, pointing to Alistair. "What's your name? Where you from?"

The prince cleared his throat and intentionally lowered his voice. "Me? I'm Al. Al of Stair," he said in a fake country accent, making something up on the fly.

"Stair? Never heard of it."

"It's on a mountain. Lots of steps. You know, steps…stair. Get it?"

"Oh, haha, I get it. That's right funny. And who's this runty fellow?" the sergeant said, pointing at Oghren.

"I'm your worst sodding nightmare," the dwarf growled.

"Alright, alright, no need to get all berserker on me," the sergeant said, backing up a step. "Just go around the side and talk with the door guards. Things are going to get really interesting shortly. I think that they'll be a lot of changes happening."

Alistair nodded and waved over to the rest of the group. "I think you're right. We'll check in at the barracks." The others began filing past on their way to the door.

"One second," the sergeant said, smacking Alistair's chest with the back of his hand. "The arl, he's been sending out wanted posters of these two people, these…Wardens. If we sees them around, they're worth a lot of gold to the arl. We gots a portrait of a bloke with blond hair and a woman with black hair, sort of like the two of youse," he added, pointing at both Alistair and Alice.

A cold prickly ran through Alistair's gut and he wanted nothing more than to step aside and let someone else make it all better. But, this is what he stepped up for. "Here, let me see those posters. Just because I'm blond doesn't mean I'm worth a bunch of sovereigns." A second guard held up the posters, which did look a bit like the Wardens. Alistair scoffed in spite of the likeness. "What? That looks like the late King Cailan. What's wrong with your artist? And that woman in the poster, she could be anyone. I think I saw her walking the street in the Marketplace. You guys are too funnyyyyy!" he said until he felt Alice's fingernails digging into his ass below his armor, raising his voice several octaves. "Oh, I mean, I think that woman is a merchant or something. I certainly didn't mean to insinuate that she was a streetwalker or anything."

The sergeant looked the posters over. "Oh shit, that does look like the King. Maker's Breath, someone messed this up. The woman is rather pretty, but you're right, she could be anyone." He turned to the other guard. "She could be your sister, Ralph. It would be my chance to bring her in and _interrogate_ her, eh? Pump her for information, huh?"

The other guard snorted. "Real funny, Jake, real funny. Hey, maybe it's your mom. I'll bet she hasn't been pumped in a while."

The sergeant waved the group on. "Alright, get out of here. Take these posters with you and tell the quartermaster to get them fixed. It won't do no good to be chasing a dead king and Ralph's sister around, now would it?"

Alistair took the posters and led the group around the garden. "I think I'll keep these as souvenirs if we survive," he said as he folded the posters up and put them in his pack.

"Streetwalker, huh?" Alice said, narrowing her eye at him.

"Oh, that…I am…so sorry. I was just making it up as I went," he said, closing his eyes and blushing furiously. "I just have such a terrible way with words when you're around."

"You got us through, my prince. Now, stand by my side as we save the Queen and restore my family's honor."

Alistair sighed with relief. "Gladly."

The Warden chuckled. "Come, Al of Stair, we have work to do. Al of Stair," she said again. "I swear, you crack me up sometimes."


	7. Codes and Ciphers

**W/N - **The closer I get, the more long winded I get. :P There's just so much to say and so many plot bunnies. Will Eamon's machinations undo the alliance? Will Allistair come unto his own and be the prince he was meant to? I meant to end this after Howe, but I've decided to complete the Landsmeet. I'm on the fence about going all of the way through the Archdemon.

**Other Malarkey - **Good thing I could sit around and read and write this evening. We did P90X Upper Body Massacre for an hour, Iso Abs for half and hour and then ran. My body is jello.

A warm thank you to everyone for your input and support! :D

**CODEX – **

Conical helm – an open faced pointed helmet made of a single piece or riveted together, sometimes with a nasal piece to protect the nose. Much like the Norman or Viking helms.  
>Bearded axe – axe with a long blade, often used by headsmen<br>Quintain – a target used in the training of knights on horseback with lance. If you don't strike it properly it swings around and hits you in the back

**The Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

The way in was relatively easy compared to what they knew that they would face. Just as Erlina said, the vast majority of guards were thugs that only worked for gold and drink. The elf distracted the guards at the side door by telling them that Darkspawn were in the garden. Perhaps they were tending the sunflowers and tomatoes. Still, the guards rushed off and the party snuck in, wearing their guard disguises – conical helms and long cloaks bearing the combined coat of arms of the Arling of Denerim and the Howe family, three silver diamonds on a field of green over a green burning sun with the bear, _passant_, over all.

Alice chaffed at wearing the arms of her sworn enemy. If she could have erased that livery from the face of Thedas once and for all, she would have. After the sack of Highever, she spent countless nights imagining Rendon Howe on the gallows, soldiers forcing his neck onto the block to await the long, bearded axe. Then, his rich wife and his children would swing from a noose for justice, the whole, rotten family obliterated from history. Months ago, Zevran told her that Howe's wife and daughter were still in Amaranthine, but that his only living son, Nathaniel, had fled to the Free Marches. Zev offered to 'do his thing' with them, but the Warden told him to hold off. She wanted to deal with the head of the snake first before she decided what to do.

She was feeling the stress of so many competing priorities in her mind. Through sheer force of will, she had slapped together an unheard of alliance of dwarves, elves, mages, Templars and nobles. She had saved Arl Eamon only to find him a tenuous ally, one who had an agenda of his own. Even now, though, this giant bowl of fruit on her head could come crashing down at any moment if tilted too far. The alliance was still focused on unseating Regent Loghain and restoring the rightful heir to the Throne, but petty squabbles and ancient feuds could tear them apart with one wrong move. The Warden knew that only the common enemy held them all together.

And then, how long could they keep the succession issue under wraps. The other nobles would roar when they heard that Connor was next in line. They would accuse the Warden of merely swinging power from one family to the other – and they would be right. And, Maker's Breath, when the Circle and the Templars became aware of a mage prince, there would be the Fade to pay. Knight Commander Greagoir could very well throw the weight of the holy warriors behind Loghain and be justified for doing so.

In spite of the near unbearable pressure, the Warden smiled and nodded to Howe's other guards and servants as they passed by. Every time one of them gave her more than a passing glance, she swallowed hard, praying that they wouldn't be exposed, but the bits of Denerim guard armor, a long surcoat and a cloak wrapped around her kept prying questions at bay. As long as the gold was flowing and the arl kept an iron fist in the estate, no one would get too curious or too far out of their lane. The only glares were directed at Erlina as elves were thought to be a greater threat than any infiltrators.

"There was an uprising," Erlina told Alice in explanation. "The elves here in the Alienage, they rose against Bann Vaughn, the son of the Arl of Denerim. I am not an Alienage elf," she said proudly. "I serve the Queen, but no one cares. To them, an elf is an elf."

"What happened? I heard Vaughn died."

"No one knows for sure. His body was never recovered. Vaughn was a sadist. He went to the Alienage during one of the weddings and he kidnapped several of the elven women for his right of First Night."

"I've heard of that. Barbaric."

"Four of the women, this Shianni, Valora, Nesiara and Kallian Tabris were all violated by that monster and his friends. Kallian fought her way out with the help of her fiancé, Nelaros and friend, Soris."

This was beginning to sound familiar to Alice. Duncan once told her this story. It didn't have a happy ending. "Nelaros died fighting Vaughn, right? Kallian wounded Vaughn, but she was hung before she could be conscripted into the Wardens."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I heard it from a friend…a man named Duncan," she said sadly.

"Oh, Duncan, yes, I should have known that you would be his friend and that he would tell you that."

"There aren't a lot of happy endings here, are there?"

Erlina seemed thoughtful for a moment. "No, it is the world that we live in."

By this time they had passed through the barracks and the kennels where the guards were busy drinking and playing cards. When they were through the grand hall, Erlina picked up the pace with Alistair right behind her. The elf led them up to a large door that seemed to glow from some unholy power.

"My Queen, she is in here!" Erlina said.

"Anora, it's me, Alistair! I'm here with the Warden."

A ghostly voice penetrated the door. "Alistair? Thank the Maker you're here with the Warden. I'd greet you properly, but I'm trapped in here with the Revered Mother," the Queen said calmly with just a hint of stress in her voice. "Yes, it's a long and unpleasant story. It seems that Rendon Howe intends to marry me and become the Prince Regent. Trust me, I'd rather marry a dwarf and a crate full of nugs right now."

This brought a grin to Oghren's face. "Then, there's still hope for me."

Alice smacked the dwarf on the back of the helmet. "What about _Felsi_?" she asked, wondering about the lady love that he had worked so hard to woo…with her help.

Oghren chuckled lecherously. "What about Felsi? Anora's tall and haughty with…with large _things_ right at eye level," he said, holding his palms out right in front of his face. He reached out and put his hands on the Warden's armored breasts, wonder in his eyes. "Just like this."

"Step back right now, dwarf."

"Oh, right, sorry. Well, maybe she and Felsi could, you know, heh heh heh."

Alice let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to Alistair, who seemed to have a self-satisfied grin on his face.

"While you and Oghren were groping, the Queen told me that a blood mage barred the door and we can't release her without the key, which is in the possession of one, Rendon Howe."

"Well then, I like it when things get simpler. Shall we?" It was hard to leave Anora when they finally had her so close, but what else could they do? They headed down the hall to pillage the treasure room and Arl Howe's office, pocketing gold and valuable documents, including some with indecipherable encryption. This would all be good intelligence when they could sit down and go through it. But, that would all have to be for later.

Alistair pointed down a long ramp into the basement. "Something tells me that we have to go this way. I don't get a good feeling about this at all," he said nervously, but then he straightened himself up and looked at Alice. "Stand in front, point the way, don't be scared. See, I'm teachable."

In spite of his silly foolishness, the Warden felt a certain pride in him. He had come a long way from being the lost boy, riding on Duncan's coattails, unable to make a decision to save his life. She reached under his open faced helm and patted him on the cheek. "Now, you just have to learn that thing with the tongue I've been telling you about."

The prince stopped short and reddened several shades. "I…umm…oh, it definitely gives a guy something to live for."

Morrigan shoved Alistair with a grunt. "Gods of the woods and the rivers, you two make me want to vomit. If you're going to lead, then lead."

Alice blushed herself and fell into step behind Alistair as they worked their way down the ramp. They opened the great wood and iron door, leading to the dungeon. This was it. She could taste Howe's blood on her lips already. It would only be a matter of time. They stepped through the door and the movement of a guard immediately caught their attention.

"Halt, who goes there?"

Before anyone could react, an arm poked through the doors of a cell and wrapped around the guard's neck, pulling the man tight against the iron bars. In another moment, there was a snapping sound and the guard went limp. The hands quickly found the guard's keys and the door squeaked open.

Alistair gripped the handle of his sword. "This could be good or bad."

A man walked out, dressed only in a dirty loincloth. His hair was dark and greasy and his beard, several weeks old. Bruises and welts covered his pale skin, but he still seemed proud and strong. With a bit of a painful grunt, he bowed and then began to take the guard's weapons. "I sense that you are not one of the arl's men, so I thank you for this timely and honorable rescue," he said in a faint Orlesian accent, tinged with something familiar to the Warden. "I…," he began before his eyes bore in on the prince. "Alistair? Is that you?"

Alistair looked back at the man, studying the face. "Wait, I do know you. You were at my joining. He's one of us," he told Alice. "A Warden from Orlais, Jader, I think. Or was it Montsimmard? I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

The man had removed much of the guard's armor by now and was putting some of it on, but he stood and bowed again. "I am Riordan, Senior Warden in Jader, but born and bred in Highever," he said, now looking at Alice. "My lady, it is good to see you alive. I knew your parents. They were always good to me and I was most saddened by news of their deaths."

Alice bowed her head. "I am comforted by your words, good sir. It is most pleasant to see another Warden. I had begun to lose hope for our Order."

"You may not remember me, but I was there years ago when you were still learning to ride and just learning the quintain. You were exceptional with a lance for your age."

She looked at Riordan with narrowed eyes, trying to remember. "Maker's Breath, you taught me to ride and taught Fergus before that. No, Riordan, it is I who am honored to rescue you. I know we do not have much time, but please, can you give me some information on how you came to be here?"

The Senior Warden told them that they had been sent by the Warden Comander of Orlais when no word was received from King Cailan as to the outcome of Ostagar. "The King had invited the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to combat the Blight. But then, nothing."

"Now you know what happened, huh?"

"Yes, we came with two-hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry, near three-thousand men. I am sorry that it was too late. Loghain's soldiers turned us back at the border. My agents then began to hear that the Wardens were being blamed for the massacre. As a native Ferelden, I volunteered to investigate."

"Will the Orlesian Wardens not help?" Alistair asked.

"We cannot risk widening the war and starting a conflict between Orlais and Ferelden. This is not about kingdoms, this is about the Blight. If Ferelden is too foolish to save itself then we will be ready when the Archdemon comes north." Riordan stepped forward and clapped Alice and Alistair on the shoulder. "But, I hear that you have not done too bad raising an army yourselves, no?" He went on to say how Loghain's emissaries had received him, but then he was poisoned and thrown into the dungeons of the arl.

Alice took a chance and showed him the coded papers from Howe's office. To their delight, it was a cipher that the Wardens used and fully explained the Joining Ritual as well as the names of the Wardens that Duncan had attempted to recruit. She read down the rolls and, when she got to Daveth and Jory, her gut tightened. "These two men, they are more than just names on a paper to me. I…Alistair and I knew them well, as well as anyone could."

"I do not doubt it. Many who come to the Wardens are thieves and rogues, but have no doubt that those who come to the joining are special." Riordan then spoke of a vault in Denerim that held the Wardens' secret stores. Duncan never had time to access it, but it was supposed to contain blood of an Archdemon necessary for the Joining. "By the time I got there, it was gone."

"Then, there is no hope for recruiting other Wardens?"

"I do not know. You should press on before we are discovered. I would come with you, but I am in no shape to fight. I can, however, still run."

Alice sighed. There was hope, but also disappointment. "Riordan, stay behind us a short distance. We can't risk you trying to escape back the way we came and being recaptured. Once we are done, you can come with us."

"Then I look forward to seeing your meeting with Rendon Howe."


	8. Soap on a Rope

**W/N - :P** So sorry, more characters have to have their say. Let's take a look at some berserker madness and a little party banter as we move along. I couldn't quite remember if Oghren's itch came now or in awakenings, but here it is.

**Other malarkey - **I received my new katana. It's a little on the heavy side, but it's a beaut.

Thank you, everyone, for your support! :) Any future suggestions are always welcome.

**The Dungeon of the Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

As the group fiddled with the lock to the dungeon door below, Oghren signed. He paced around a bit, hefting his hammer and adjusting his armor. The cause itself did not matter a whole lot to him. In Orzammar, there was a new cause nearly every week – Who was in line for succession? Which prince had the upper hand? Was the King's shit still solid? Oghren didn't care much for causes. Causes changed about a much as one's small clothes. The thought made the dwarf pause for a moment and he shifted his eyes back and forth. When was the last time he changed his small clothes? Good question.

Ah, it had been only about a week or so. He could probably still charm the ladies for a few more days before he would have to do something drastic. Still, there was this increasingly annoying itch that seemed to exist right under the faulds of his armor. Sod, it was irritating. If he could just reach down and back up through his pants and back down the legging, he could…ahhh, much better. A smile came to his face and his eyes glazed over.

"Dwarf…what…are…you doing?" It was the witch.

"Heh heh, say, Morrigan, give a dwarf a hand, would you. I've got this itch, see. Sodding armor. If you could just reach down my-"

Oghren had seen it before, but to see it up close and personal like that was truly disconcerting. Brown fur began to sprout from Morrigan's face and her nose and mouth quickly became a snout with sharp fangs and she grew several feet in height. She held up a bear's paw with four inch claws. "Where did you want me to scratch again?"

"Oh d…d…forget I asked. Nice bear. Heh heh."

The witch shrank back to her human self and smirked at him. "Got some griz? Perhaps, if you used that soap the Warden gave you more often, this would not be a problem?"

"It was _her_? Sod, I thought it was you," he said and then mumbled something. "Perhaps that sodding hygiene garbage she's been spouting to me is actually useful."

"T'is very useful, trust me."

"Heh heh, so the Warden gave me the soap, huh? Heh heh, that sneaky minx, I never thought she had it in her. So, uh, Morrigan, do you actually care about this whole King, Queen, prince, teyrn, arl nonsense? I mean, this whole power trip…?"

"I find it almost as annoying as I find you. Why, do _you_ care about it?"

"Well, I mostly care about ale and adventure…and ale. But, you know, it's about people. I don't give a sod about Loghain or Eamon or any of those puffed up nobles. You get the same thing in Orzammar, only its even worse there. Er, I'm going to sound like a sodding nug, but I care about the Warden…and this messed up group of misfits. The only reason I give two hoots about Howe is that he crossed my friend and he'll see his own innards before this is done."

Morrigan coughed nervously and the dwarf expected some caustic rebuke, but the witch gave him an odd grin. "Yes, this messed up group of misfits…. It's like I actually fit in somewhere. Even that big bag of rocks for brains…I'm…fond of her. Oh, gods, I actually said it."

"Heh heh, so the witch actually does have a heart."

"Well Oghren, I won't say anything about you being a sodding nug if you won't say anything about my heart."

"Deal."

"Finally, we agree on something."

The snap of fingers caught their attention and they looked down to see Alistair waving them over. "We got the lock open finally," he said quietly. "Maker's Breath, I miss Zevran and Leliana. When we go in, just act naturally. We're still in disguise."

They walked in and the guards all turned to them at once. "Hey, no one else is supposed to be down here! The Prince Regent, he says that if we catch anyone down here, we can have our way with them," the lieutenant said menacingly.

Alistair's eyes got really big and he held his palms out. "Oh, wait, I think we took a wrong turn somewhere. Why don't we just-" he said, giving his best goofy look and then swung his crossbow out and shot the lieutenant right in the throat. The man pitched backward, clutching at the shaft and feathers, but it was too late for him.

Oghren growled and raised his hammer. "I didn't think you had it in you boy," he yelled as he began his charge. He took no more than two steps before he saw someone jump from the rafters and tackle him hard. With a loud _oof_ he and the other person crashed into some crates. "What the…?" He pulled his hammer back to strike, but it was Zevran.

The elf slit a tripwire with his razor sharp shortsword. "Trap, my friend. You must watch out for those things. Now, be a good dwarf and go kill people."

Arrows were already flying thick in the room and Morrigan flung a ball of fire into the far corner, which exploded into flash and heat, engulfing two guards. An enemy mage ran by screaming, his robes burning. Oghren leapt up and followed Cyrano into the heart of the fray. The hound pounced onto an archer and sank his fangs into the man's neck the both of them tumbling over a barrel, leaving the way open for the dwarf.

With the reach of his two-handed hammer, Oghren slammed the flat end down on a guard's shield, shattering the wood and breaking the man's arm. Splinters flew and the guard recoiled in pain as the beaked end of the hammer landed on his head. "That'll show ya!" he yelled as the guard crumpled to the floor, his head crushed in.

He swept the hammer around, driving three other guards back. Nearby, the Wardens were working their way around while Sten was hammering on three other guards. An enemy Mabari Hound rushed in and rammed into Cyrano, howling and screaming filling the room. Oghren swung again, but one of the men parried the blow with a shield and another stepped in and struck his helmet with a sword. The ring of metal shook his head and the dwarf saw stars for a second. By the time he knocked the cobwebs out, the third guard thrust the point of his sword into his gut.

That Legion Armor was nothing if not tough and the attack barely broke his skin. It was time - time for the berserker to show. Oghren roared, causing the men to jump back, startled. "That sodding tickled! Now you've done it!" He tapped that inner rage, just as he once showed the Warden, and it flowed out like a river of magma. Using the full weight of his body, he brought the hammer down on one guard's breastplate, cracking the metal and bones behind it like an egg. He kept the momentum of the swing going for another strike and snuck it under another guard's shield, caving in the cuisse over the thigh and causing a nauseating snapping noise. The man fell over screaming, his leg bent in an unnatural position and the last guard ran.

Oghren let out a howl that was fiercer than any Mabari and more bloodthirsty than any Rage Demon and chased the man down, putting the beak of his hammer right through the backplate. The beak stuck several inches through the armor and the dwarf yanked the man back, off of his feet, onto the ground. But then, his hammer was stuck. At that moment, he saw another enemy Mabari leap at him and he snarled back even louder. He caught the hound in the air and flung it into the wall with all of his might and it thudded against the stone and fell, whimpering.

"By the Stone, I impress myself sometimes!"

Then, he leapt back onto the wounded guard and drew his thick, cinquedea dagger. "Raise your hands and drop yer shorts if you want to live! And, give me my damn hammer back."

The guard quickly put his hands up, not quite sure if he should drop his pants too. He looked around the room to see that he was surrounded by some very hostile people.

Zevran pointed his shortsword at the guard's lower region. "Eh, do as the dwarf asks. Besides, I'd like to take a look."

As the guard yanked his pants down, Oghren looked up at the elf. "Where the sod did you come from and how did you know about that trap?"

"I was waiting for you guys…up there, in the rafters. I was tempted to let the bomb go off on you, but then I remembered how much you drink and you would be likely to blow the Warden up too."

"A bomb? What kind of bomb?"

"Eh, the exploding kind. What other kind of bomb is there?"

"Heh heh, a real comedian, huh elf? Oh yeah, and thanks for not letting me blow up."

Zevran gave him that half cocked grin of his. "Don't mention it," he said and leaned in towards Oghren's forehead, his lips puckered.

The dwarf recoiled, pushing his palm into Zev's face. "Oh no you don't with that sodding kissy kissy nonsense!" He turned to Alice and pointed his finger down the hall. "Let's get going! This better be worth it!"


	9. Nehraa Beresaad!

**W/N** - Shanedan everyone and thank you for all of your support and input! :D I had a Princess Bride moment in there. Lots of action and some reflection and party banter. Morrigan has a bit of a comeuppance. In a later chapter, Sten and Leliana will have a softie moment. As I mentioned, I had a weird moment and made my Kiss the Arishok pic with corny fic to accompany it, complete with a terrible beast that guards the secret of the cookies.

Thank you again and please enjoy.

**The Barracks in the Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

For Sten, the cause was honorable. While he didn't particularly care what human noble sat on the throne of Ferelden, waiting for the inevitable Qunari invasion, the Qun spoke of resetting the balance of things. He knew that the Warden's parents and brother were killed for the vanity and ambition of the Regent and this Arl Rendon Howe. He knew that the late King of Ferelden was betrayed unto death by the same agents. According to the Qun, everything and everyone had its place in the world. To assume that one could, through manipulation and guile, become king was arrogance beyond measure. In Seheron, the Arishok led the armies of the Qunari – it was plain and simple. The Arishok was the greatest warrior and no Qunari would question that. Should the Arishok fall, another would be appointed to that task, the warrior with the most skill and power. There could be no other. In the mind of the faithful, the Warden's task was honorable – she sought to right the balance, to put the arrogant in their place.

Now, deep in the dungeons of the arl, they moved forward along the hallway to what must be the inevitable confrontation with the Warden's nemesis. They crept along to a corner where the captured guard said that the barracks and kennels would be. At first, the guard seemed reluctant to divulge any further information about the layout of the dungeons until the Warden asked Sten to pull the man's arms off. That seemed to loosen the guard's tongue.

The Warden knelt at the corner of the hallway and held her closed fist up, bringing everyone to a halt. Sten crouched over her. "What is your wish, _Kadan_? Perhaps we should catch them in the barracks and force their backs to the wall. Shall I kick in the door?"

"Not yet. I don't trust this area. It seems too quiet," she said and then motioned Zevran forward. "Zev, check out the hall."

The elf snuck forward, lightly running his hands along the walls and stone tiles, poking and prodding as he went. He touched something on the wall and then stopped. "There's something here," he whispered back. "A vent of some kind. I wouldn't get in front of it, if I were you."

Sten nodded. Though an abomination, the arl was no fool. Any enemy coming to this junction would be caught between a rock and a hard place – hit by the trap and then attacked by forces from the barracks and the kennels. Zev scampered back.

"I don't see anything else," the elf said. "Just stay clear of that vent."

The Qunari watched as the Warden and Alistair conferred, mapping out a plan of attack. There was something that he needed to do and it had to be now. Though he looked down on the Warden at first, it was she who had been the driving force of so much that had happened. As much as he believed in the superiority of the Qun, he could not deny that he would be skeleton, swinging in an iron cage right now had these humans not come along. Though they be non-believers, perhaps there was a place in the order of things for them. Still, it would be an honor to one day convert them, by the sword or otherwise. They would all bring much to the Qun.

"_Kadan_, I would like the honor of leading this assault. I must stand _with_ you and no longer be in your shadow. It is the way of things."

The Warden looked up at him through the raised visor of her sallet helm and narrowed her eyes. Then, she stepped behind him and nodded. "I trust you to be victorious. We will follow you."

Though he had led men in battle, almost too many times to count, it had become too easy to step behind the Warden. She was a worthy leader, but how could he stand among the brave and the strong once more if he could not show a human the true strength of a Qunari? He stepped forward in front of the group and recalled an all too human saying – be careful what you wish for.

"Zevran, take the hound and move to the far side of the barracks door. We will assault the kennel first. I expect the guards to come forth when they hear the call of battle. You and the dog will delay them."

The elf bowed and glanced at the Warden for reassurance and she cocked her head back at Sten. "Don't look at me. Sten will guide us."

Zevran shrugged and snuck back past the vents and knelt down with Cyrano to begin laying traps.

Sten then turned to the mages. "Wynne, Morrigan, you must hit them with your magic once the guards are in the hall. Oghren, protect them." He motioned to Alice and Alistair. "Follow me, we'll assault the kennel." The Qunari pulled the leather straps of his helmet tight and slid the metal nose piece down into place. Red paint was already streaked across his face, body and armor, each mark symbolizing his rank and history…each battle, each conquest, every major action he had done for the Qun. "When the door is open, throw a grenade in to lead the way. Then, they will feel the _Asala_."

At the side of the kennel door, Sten held his weapon in both hands, feeling the life that flowed down the blue steel in the blade. Subtle vibrations emanated from the leather grip, reaffirming that this sword was truly a living thing…an extension of more than his arm, but his entire soul. Through the Qun, his life was dedicated to each and every swing, each and every cut. Few humans could understand this and it was why the Qunari conquered much of them.

Making eye contact with the two Wardens, he reached out with one, gauntleted hand and pressed the latched. Alice lit the fuse of a grenade as the door swung in. "Fire in the hole!" she called as she pitched the orb in the room. There were sounds of surprise along with the baying of warhounds, but, in a moment, a sharp crack tore the air followed by a wave of fire. The sounds of surprise turned into pain and the baying into shrieking as the shockwave of the explosion shot through the open door, singeing Sten's hair.

"_Atash varin kata!_" he yelled, urging his people to find glory in the end.

As he stepped into the room, Alistair fired a crossbow bolt past him, the shaft sinking into a smoldering hound at the flank and burying itself up to the fletchings. The Mabari was dead before it hit the floor and Sten moved forward and clove the head from another hound, the steel edge passing through fur, skin and bones as if it were just paper. A few guards were scampering around, trying to put out flames, but others were grabbing weapons from a rack.

"To arms! We are under attack!"

This was the moment that all true Qunari lived for – to demonstrate the maximum potential for which each member was destined for. A cook should make the finest dishes, a priest should unfailingly give the word of the Qun and a warrior should be one with the weapon, totally unafraid. At the speed of thought, muscle and sinew contracted to sweep the _Asala_ around his head and down through the armored collarbone of a guard, carving down past the hip, cleaving the body clean in two. Sten's eyes unfocused, looking at nothing, but seeing all. "Protect my flanks!" he called to the Wardens as men came at them in droves. A guard thrust the spike of a halberd at him, but he swept the shaft down in a circle and used the momentum to angle his tip up and ram it through the man's chest.

The man spat blood and cried out, dropping his weapon and Sten twisted the _Asala_, shearing organs and vessels. Sten growled, baring his teeth. "_Katara bas!_"

Another wave of men came and he could see the rise and fall of the Wardens' swords on each side. Two guards attacked him at once and he angled the _Asala_ up to intercept their weapons. Steel clanged on steel, stopping the blows and Sten brought the spiked point of his pommel down into one man's eye. As the man collapsed, Sten let go of his sword with his left hand and then used it to push the cutting edge into the crook of the second guard's neck. With a pull of his hip, the Qunari swept the razor edge through flesh and muscle, a thick red spray coating the floor.

As another wave charged, a Mabari Hound seized his sword arm with its fangs and bit down hard. Sten grunted under the pressure of its jaws, but the plates and mail covering his skin held fast. He smashed the spiked gauntlet of his free hand into the face of the dog and it let go with a shriek. Without another thought, he pumped his fist forward and shouted, "Forward! We end this now!"

Sten took another step and recovered his guard, but cries from the hallway caught his attention. "They're breaking through, Oghren!" cried Wynne before she let out a frightened yelp. Many commanders would have panicked at this point, sandwiched between two enemy forces with one flank potentially collapsing. But, those commanders were probably not adherents to the Qun. Duty was clear here.

The Qunari made a quick feint towards the remaining soldiers in the kennel and then switched directions on a dime, far faster than what anyone would have expected for such a big man. "Press them!" he ordered the Wardens and he sprinted from the room into the hallway where a swirling melee greeted him. Zevran lay on his back, fighting off a guard while Cyrano dug into the man's armored leg with his teeth. Oghren's back was to a wall, swinging madly with his hammer to keep four at bay while Wynne shielded Morrigan, who was crawling, blood dripping from her head.

On instinct, Sten leapt onto the mob, his body crashing down on the guards, scattering them like bowling pins. With the _Asala _in one hand, he grabbed two heads and smashed them together. He then smote another in the face with the pommel of his sword before they even realized that the giant was among them. As confusion reigned around, Sten drew his arms back and sent the tip of his sword clean through two guards' chests, one after the other, armor and all. Again, as he had trained for so many years, he twisted the sword, maximizing the damage. Steel groaned against steel and bone and the two men collapsed where they stood.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another guard thrust a halberd at him and he tried to parry, but he realized that the _Asala_ was caught in the two dead guards. He yanked on the handle, but it was too late. The spike of the halberd caught just below his armpit and shattered links of mail. Sten winced, anticipating six inches of steel ramming through his chest, but there was a flash and the head of the halberd broke off, falling onto the floor and scattered into tiny pieces.

The Qunari gasped and blinked, seeing Wynne holding up a closed fist. The spirit healer pumped her fist forward and chucks of stone flew into the guard, pelting him all over the body. Other guards rushed in and Wynne clenched both hands and then flung her arms out wide, ripples of energy coursing from her hands. A shockwave of magical power rolled over the men, blue and purple sparks jumping all over as the wave tore through the hallway.

Men fell and shrieked as Wynne's torrent of magic billowed from her hands. The mage slammed the butt of her staff down and the wave dissipated into flowing tendrils of energy that settled onto Morrigan, Oghren and Sten. The Qunari felt renewed as if he had drank a pot of that Free Marcher coffee. As the ache of fatigue left his arms, Wynne sagged and then slid down a wall, a look of pain covering her face.

Sten took no further time to spring back into action. As he made a renewed charge, he saw a bolt of power fly from Morrigan's staff into a man, who shriveled up like a dried husk and disintegrated into ash and dust. The shock and horror of such a sight nearly broke the will of the enemy and some quailed, some even ran. With Oghren right behind him, Sten bellowed out a war cry, "_Nehraa Beresaad!_"

With the tight walls of the hallway, Sten could not use his massive, sweeping cuts with the _Asala_ for fear of hitting a wall or worse, a comrade. He widened his grip and struck with short, chopping cuts that were controlled. Deflecting an attack, he popped the edge of the _Asala_ into the neck of one guard and pulled back, ripping open a gaping wound. He then launched an uppercut, slicing an arm clean off. An axe head then glanced off of his breastplate and into the wall, opening another guard up and Sten drove the edge into the man's armpit, cutting leather straps and breaking mail links along with ribs and lungs.

"_Anaan esaam Qun_!" he cried for the victory of the Qun as he watched the backsides of frightened survivors flee down the hall. He made a move to pursue them, but he felt someone tugging at his waist – it was Zevran.

"Hold up, my large friend. The hallway is laced with traps. I will deal with those, but we'll have to let the frightened ones go."

Sten grunted in frustration. "It is the way of the Qun – we must learn patience. Just do your Crow thing and we will bring them fire and sword before long." He took a breath and looked back to see the Wardens emerging from the kennels, their swords covered in thick gore. Holding Starfang, Alice put her fist to her temple and then flicked the blade downward, letting blood spray out from the tip of her sword. In an instant, Starfang was back in its scabbard. Alistair followed suit, using the style that she had taught him.

"The area is secured," the prince said, nodding to Zevran to proceed and clear the way. It would be a few minutes before they could advance again. "Is everyone okay?"

Oghren let out a belch and Cyrano made a happy yap. Morrigan wiped clotted blood from her head and put an herbal potion on, rubbing it into her hair. "Ow, t'was careless of me. T'is nothing serious, so mind me not." From the darkness, Riordan staggered up from behind and handed her a potion. The witch looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, t'is very kind of you." She drank some of it and then poured the rest on the now knitting wound.

Riordan pointed to a dark red stain on her white sash. "You have some blood on you, miss."

"Oh, so I do," she said and rubbed some of the potion into the blotch. "Gods of the forest, it comes right out. You should market this, sir," she said with a bat of her eyelashes.

Even through his ratty beard, Riordan grinned. "It's an old Warden recipe."

Sten watched the flirtatious exchange with some amusement. The witch was always so obvious. He mused at how she had tried to pique his interest many times, lewdly recounting dreams in which he had brought her to new heights and how they had achieved new levels of animation. He tried his best to dissuade her – the way of the Qun taught that a partner would be provided for him when the time was right to breed more of the Kossith people. He would never know his offspring, never have any role in their upbringing. All he knew was that his issue would be chosen for their place in society one day – soldier, priest, artisan, musician or smith, it was not his choice or concern. Still, the Qun did not assuage his manly urges. Beyond breeding, sex was a way to focus the mind and relieve the tension. He could not deny that the thought of release with the witch, the bard or even the Warden had not crossed his mind. He knew that this was a test of his faith. He chuckled inwardly, remembering how he finally redirected Morrigan by suggesting that she wear armor for the act and carry a hot pry bar on her person should he try to nuzzle her. Never before had he seen her speechless with jaw hanging open.

The Qun always taught restraint in these matters, but a little self indulgence was permissible. Besides, there was no tenant against humor or pranks. Too much repression always came out in bad ways. It was then that Sten realized that a few minutes had passed and he was about to rally up the group when they all heard Wynne scream.


	10. Scream

**W/N -** Many thanks again for joining me. This is kind of a dark one. At this juncture I kind of feel like most of the characters should have a say. Here's a short one with Wynne. This was a nice experiment in thinking how magic would work and look. Morrigan is up next and then the Warden.

I'll be out until Friday for work, but am percolating ideas. :D

**Dungeons of the Estate of the Arl of Denerim**

It was more of a scream of anger and horror than of fear or surprise. Something profoundly terrible drew Wynne into the room as if the Fade itself was unraveling. Sure, she had seen terrible things before – demons, cruelty, bullying…but man's inhumanity to man in this place put her over the edge. Though exhausted from her earlier efforts near the barracks, a feral feeling rose in her gut at the sight of so many ruined bodies and tormented souls. She leaned on her staff, shaking with rage. As her cry died away, the torturers turned to her as one, their mouths open beneath grotesque black masks.

It took a moment for the fiends to grasp what was happening before they began to scramble for weapons. For a second, Wynne was incredulous that they had not heard the battle in the far hall nor had anyone come to warn them. Then, she realized that the screams of their victims drowned out any sounds of the melee and that their fellows in the barracks were nothing more than cowards. She clenched her hand around the dark, rough wood of her staff and inhaled the air around her, channeling it into magical power as the aura from her body shifted from blue to fiery red.

As the blood-smeared, black clad men rushed to gather weapons, Wynne unleashed the energy that she had gathered in her gut. Heat surged up through her body, her neck and face and her eyes glowed orange as her spell was poured forth through her staff. The magical wave struck the men full force, knocking them backwards, bones snapping like twigs. Now, the torturers became the tortured, some of them rolling weakly, cradling limbs that bent at unnatural angles, some with bones protruding from flesh. Others rose slowly, shaking their heads and staggering about. One man tried to fling a dagger at Wynne and she brought up a wall of energy which deflected the weapon away into a block of wood.

The attacker looked at her with surprise and Wynne gave him a smirk. "I suppose I shouldn't use that trick to entertain children at parties," she said darkly.

The mage moved to launch another spell, but the exertions had caught up to her. She tried to take a deep breath, but it seemed like the air around her was made of molasses and she had to lean on her staff to keep standing. The spirit within her faded, its energy weakening. Wynne took a few steps backwards as men gathered to rush her.

Before she could move, Alistair and Sten came around each side of her, Alistair spearing one of the men as Sten cut down another one. The torturers had had enough and threw down their weapons. Wynne had never seen Sten pause in battle, but the Qunari looked around, seeing the horror of the chamber.

"Wha…what is this place? How can you humans do this to one another?" he said and the mage could feel for his confusion.

Alistair and Oghren herded the prisoners into the corner and Wynne moved to Sten's side as the warrior shivered from both shock and cold. She took her fur cloak and wrapped it around his armored shoulders. It was far too small for him, but she pinned it around his neck and tucked it around his waist. "I can let it out later, but it still might be too short. Come, help me release these poor souls," she said as she guided Sten past hanging and mutilated bodies. The Qunari nodded hesitantly and took the keys that were hanging on a rack and began unlocking manacles.

Wynne went to a woman in a hanging cage whose skin was covered in a sheen of blood and sweat and opened the iron door. "You're free, dear. Here, can you stand?" she asked as she guided the shaky woman out. The woman stood on wobbly legs and nodded.

"I…I can stand," she said in an Orlesian accent. "Thank you, thank you for saving me." Terror was still in the woman's eyes and she glanced nervously about. "Howe…is Howe coming? Where is he?" she asked as if the arl would come in right at that moment.

"No, dear. He is not here. Come with us, we will get you out of here. What is your name?"

Marjo…Marjorie. Yes, that's my name. I think I can walk. Just take me with you please."

Wynne passed the woman to Riordan and gave her a healing potion. "We will. Stay with Riordan and keep behind us. We'll get you out of here."

A man's ranting caught her attention and she looked over to see Sten and the Warden helping a man off of the rack. The man was nearly incoherent and could barely hold his arms up. The Warden wrapped a bloody sheet around his body and guided him over to Wynne. The man rambled something about his father coming to get him and tried to struggle in the Warden's arms, but he was far too weak. With one hand, Alice beckoned the mage over.

"This is Oswyn, the son of Bann Sighard. Please, give him your assistance. We need to get him and these other people out of here."

Wynne took Oswyn from the Warden and sat him down on a bench. "He looks bad. I'll do what I can." She took a damp rag and gently wiped the blood from his face and chest. "Stay with me, dear, we'll get you out of this dreadful place. Just hang in there."

The poor boy babbled something unintelligible and then began sobbing in Wynne's arms. Alice helped them back up and pointed back to the main hall. "We have to go. Howe's men are no doubt aware of our presence. We cannot stay."

Alistair and Oghren brandished weapons at the prisoners. The dwarf slapped the prince in the chest on his breastplate. "Okay Prince Pikespinner," he said grimly, using his nickname for Alistair. "What do we do with this bunch?"

For so long, Wynne had lived her life seeking harmony and civility. While not always kind, she strove to bring balance to those around her and people like Morrigan exasperated her to no end – the people for whom power meant all and life was not precious. But, seeing everything in this chamber of horrors shook her. This was beyond Uldred in the Tower and the broodmother in the Deep Roads. Uldred was a tool and broodmother could not help what she had become. What happened here was by choice. These men chose to do this. Wynne felt nauseous for a moment.

"Oghren, I will take care of this. Help Oswyn and the others into the hall. Be ready to seal the door from the outside."

"What? What kind of answer is that?" the dwarf said as he backed up.

"Just do as I ask, Oghren," she said as she began to inhale power into her lungs. Her staff began to glow and her eyes radiated a fierce bright blue. The group quickly retreated towards the hallway, glancing back at Wynne's growing strength. "This needs to be done. This horror cannot be allowed to endure."

The Warden gripped her shoulders and guided her backwards. "Wynne, you're not thinking of…."

"Yes, Alice. Though it diminish me, the spirit has spoken." Wynne raised her arms up and then smote the ground with her staff. A blue fire poured forth from her heart and a ghostly image coalesced in front of her. The spirit looked down upon her and the Warden with a kindly face, neither male nor female, ageless in its visage. Then, it turned sharply and looked at the torturers. The kindly features instantly changed into fangs and claws and terrible burning eyes. As they left the chamber, Wynne collapsed into the Warden's arms just as the spirit flew at the men. Screams filled the room as Oghren shut the door.


	11. A Dog's Life

**W/N - **Again, thank you so much Roxfox, Josie, Ygrain, EE and Padawan Mage! I had a weird inspiration and let's look at a dog's life. There's a little hound backstory, a little tongue in cheek, a little dogmance and how he sees the Warden and others. Lot's of doggy action too! Cameos from Dairren, Vaugh, Soris and Rexel. Next up is the confrontation.

**The Jail**

The smell of blood in Cyrano's nostrils was almost maddening to the warhound. This place stank of death and destruction, something Cyrano had come to truly understand since they fled from Highever so many months ago. Though he didn't understand everything that had happened from that time, he knew that he was in the company of good and strong people who would help his mistress. As he led the way down the hall, he picked up a scent, faint at first, but then strong. There was a horrible tinge of evil to that aroma that he could not help but remember…it was Arl Howe.

Images played out in the hound's mind as the smell coursed its way up through his snout into his brain. It was as if all of the pent up anxiety of the quest was flooding over him all at once. He could envision the father, the lord of the house in Highever, petting him. He was but a puppy then, gurgling and chewing on some cloth toy. The father smiled and rubbed his belly and then gave him to the mistress, Alice. She was different then, smaller, rail thin and gangly with freckles and wild hair. He liked her smell, loved licking her face. Her squeals of laughter excited him and he leapt about, yapping and wagging his tail. They rolled around in a ball of fur and hair and lanky arms and legs, the puppy tearing at her dress.

"Oh, dear Maker, what have you done, Bryce?" It was the mother, the lady of the house. "Now I'll have to change her before she can begin her lessons with Master Aldous! What a mess!"

Cyrano looked up at the mother and made a sorry whine, tucking his tail between his legs. Then, all of the people began to laugh and the hound perked up at the sound and began leaping around again, yapping as he spun in circles. It was a nice place to be and he knew that he was loved.

"What will we name him?" the mother asked.

The father put his finger to his chin. "The pup was a gift from the lord of West Hills, Cyrano DuClaw. How about Cyrano?"

"An Orlesian name? Are you sure?"

The father nodded. "These are different times. I fought the Orlesians all those years ago, but the hated Emperor is now dead. A new Empress sits on the Orlesian Throne and she is wiser…gentler. We may finally see an end to the bitterness that tore our two kingdoms apart."

The mother smiled. "Then Cyrano it is."

Soon, Cyrano grew to be a massive warhound and he learned to bite and claw, but only when the mistress told him to. Very quickly, they became as one warrior, fighting with one mind. It would be a bond that would last a lifetime. She would train with him for hours, wearing this tasty padded cloth over her arm and he would grab on, thrashing and tearing until they were both exhausted. Then, the mistress would fall to the ground, laughing and Cyrano would leap on top of her, pretending to bite her throat. "Okay, okay, you win, Cyrano!" she would shout and then, when he relaxed, she would roll over on top of him and snuggle his neck. He loved her smell, so sweet and fresh. If they ever became separated, he could sniff her out from across Ferelden by following that scent.

Then, images of the hated Howe filled his head again and he growled involuntarily, his ears pricking up sharply. There was something about the man that Cyrano did not trust from the very start. He could just smell it on Howe - it was like giant rats in the pantry that the cook detested. The hound could still see that night in Highever clearly – the night that had changed them forever. He had been forced to sleep on the rug and not in the mistress' bed. She invited a strange smelling man into _their_ room and he started wrestling with her and her clothes fell off. Cyrano was tempted to tear the man to shreds and bared his teeth, but the mistress told him to lie down and to be quiet. The two resumed wrestling and the mistress giggled like when she played with him, but it was a little different, more exciting. The hound could smell something in the air and the mistress began moaning, something she would occasionally do in the room alone. The sounds and the smells made him think of the bitch down in the kennels and he uttered a growly yelp.

He realized though, that he didn't like the rug at the foot of the bed – it was cold, unlike the thick warm quilts on the mistress' bed. Maybe when she and that man, Dairren, were done wrestling, he could jump back in. But, whatever they were doing seemed to go on forever and Cyrano soon fell asleep.

Some of the images were disjointed from this point on, but he remembered smelling smoke and waking up. Not just the smoke from a fireplace, but much worse. There was fighting too and not the pretend kind either. The odor of blood soon seeped through the door. He had to warn the mistress. His excited barks woke the man and he said to be quiet, but the man didn't know what he knew. He couldn't hear or smell what Cyrano heard and smelled. Why couldn't he understand?

The man opened the door and arrows flew into his body. For the first time, Cyrano saw a dead person and his instinct and training took over. Everything around him blurred and he charged a soldier with a crossbow. The eyes opened with fear and the throat tilted back. Fangs dug into flesh. It was the first time the hound tasted blood, fresh and salty. Massive jaws clamped down and thrashed until the whole head rolled away. Was this the right thing to do? The man threatened the mistress so it had to be right. The room was now quiet and he turned back to see the mistress, her naked skin still glistening from sweat. He made a tentative whine, but she stroked his face, rubbed behind his ear and wiped some of the gore from his snout. "Good boy. Show them no mercy."

From there, Cyrano had learned to identify the picture of the bear that went with the men of the hated Howe and he tore them apart without hesitation for the mistress and he would always get extra Mabari biscuits when this happened. During his journey, he had learned much and grown close to the mistress' friends. The mistress and the big bronze man painted him with the Kaddis of the Open Skies, symbols of power for a warhound that signified the fierce Mabari of Ferelden. The skinny witch often complimented his intelligence, saying that he was even smarter than the funny prince. She would often have him fetch ingredients for her potions and for that little doll that she had that looked like the funny prince. They even had a game where he would steal her small clothes and he would put gifts in them. The dwarf would try to get him drunk all the time and the kind old woman even gave him regular baths.

The images in Cyrano's head faded and he made a snorting chortle that some would call a laugh. But, the smell of the Howe was now strong and drove all other thoughts away and the hound put his nose to the ground, sniffing. The Howe was close…very close. They came to another door on the side of the hallway and the elf crouched down to the side, checking along the frame and the wood. Bad things could happen if the elf didn't check and so the hound made a quiet woof of approval. The elf looked back with a smile and a wink, which reminded him a little of the way the elf would look at the mistress when he didn't think others were watching. Cyrano knew that the elf and the mistress had wrestled too. The mistress seemed to like wrestling. But, it had been a while since she and the elf did it. Maybe she got a lot better at it than him. She only seemed to wrestle with the funny prince these days.

The hound could now smell death and fear beyond the door and the sound of whimpering, much like the room in which everyone was being hurt. This made Cyrano mad and he couldn't wait to get in there. The elf opened the door and evil men turned in surprise. In a flash, Cyrano was leaping through the air. Paws struck hard against a man's chest. The body flew back onto the ground. The head hit the floor. A throat lay bare and exposed. There was the taste of blood.

A fury overtook the hound as his Kaddis glowed with power. The mistress came in and again, they were as one. The bright sword would flash and then fangs would come out in perfect timing. The mistress would cut down any man that threatened her faithful dog and he would tear at any man challenging her. A soldier moved at them and a sword arm pulled back. Teeth tore at the forearm, stopping the attack. There was a scream. The mistress' bright sword plunged through a heart.

These men wore the symbol of the bear, like he had come to hate. There could be no mercy for these people. A dull _thud_ got his attention though and he turned to see the mistress stagger. A man with a great axe had hit her, the blade denting her shiny armor. The man pushed her down and then leapt on top of her, drawing a dagger. This was no play wrestling. He pulled the visor of her helmet up and draw his hand back, the tip of the dagger aimed right at her eye.

Paws scrabbling on the bloody floor, Cyrano bounded ahead, snarling with spittle flying from his fangs. The bearded face turned. Eyes opened wide with fear. Massive jaws clamped down on hair and skin until a skull shattered. Now the room was quiet again and a familiar hand rubbed behind his ears and wiped gore from his snout. "Good boy. You can let go of that head now."

Cyrano realized that something was stuck in his mouth and he let it go, the round object falling and then rolling wetly on the floor. He made a quiet whine, hoping that this was okay and when the mistress smiled, he perked up, wagging his tail and woofing happily. Only then did he see the elf unlocking jail cells and letting people out. Other elves came out and kissed the ground. They were so thin and ragged. Several men came out too, babbling and ranting wildly so that even the hound could not tell what they were saying. These people were burned and scarred and cried pitifully. The old woman took them and added them to the growing throng of ill and wounded. Hopefully, she could help them, maybe even give them a bath too. Finally, the mistress took a dirty man out of his cell. This man was angry and demanded something from the mistress which made her unhappy. The elves called him a rapist and a murderer and the Zevran elf became agitated. Cyrano didn't like it when someone upset the mistress or her friends.

This commotion made the dirty man even more angry and he threatened the mistress and everyone else. He would see them dead. They would be hanging in cages, food for the crows. He would make the mistress beg for mercy. Cyrano was about to leap, but the mistress put her hand out to stop him. She was up to something though. She calmly walked back and pulled a tunic off one of the dead soldiers. She smiled and put it over the dirty man's naked body and smoothed it out so that Cyrano could see the picture of the bear. She pointed to the man and just said, "Howe."

There was a snarl. Human eyes widened in panic and fear. The body turned to run. Fangs dug into soft flesh at the calf. There was a scream and the smell of urine. A hand came up, but teeth ripped it off the arm. Another scream. Now, the throat was exposed. The Mabari biscuit would be very tasty after.


	12. Vengeance

**W/N - **Thank you so much to Roxfox, Josie, Ygrain and EE! I really appreciate your support and input. :D

I got a little long on this one. You ever have those chapters where it's all been thought out and outlined and then it just took off in another direction? Worse than a Mabari. Lots of action before we transition back to the intrigue of the Landsmeet. A terrible decision awaits the Warden. Thanks to Padawan Mage, I just read Stolen Throne and have some wild Loghain ideas. Keep your axes sharp. Heads will likely roll.

Please enjoy.

**Near Arl Howe's Office**

The Warden's heart thumped within her chest as she crouched behind her shield. It felt heavy on her left arm like a giant lead weight in her hand. Her muscles were tensed with the anticipation of vengeance and justice and she took in a deep breath to fuel the fire in her blood. The air in the dungeon of the Arl of Denerim hung like filthy, matted hair, sticking in her lungs. She wouldn't have been at all surprised if the horror and death that had happened here had sundered the Veil – there was a palpable evil and despair that gripped this place. Slimy water dripped down dark stones and pooled on broken tiles like rivers of gore. Even after all she had seen and been through, the images of the tortured bodies in Rendon Howe's dungeons went beyond all description and chilled her soul. They were nearing the end now though and blood would be paid for with blood.

Just behind her, she could feel Sten, Oghren, and the others chomping at the bit to get into another battle with Howe's men. Only Shale was absent here as she would have been difficult to have snuck into the Arl's manor. The stone golem was given leave to hunt pigeons on the roof of Arl Eamon's manor as compensation for missing out on the crushing of squishy human bodies. Plus, she made an excellent lookout for listening into Eamon's conversations around the manor.

"What are we waiting for, warden?" Oghren said with a growl, his breath heavy with smell of hops and barley. "Are we going to show Howe his innards some time today or not?" His forked red beard poked out from under his black helmet like a gaudy knight's banner, but with bits of pork and fish stuck on it, probably to be saved for later.

No one wanted blood now more than Warden, Lady Alice Cousland, but she had learned patience in the long months since Howe had betrayed and slaughtered her parents and sacked their castle at Highever. No one could taste that vengeance more than she right now – every time she closed her eyes she could hear the clash of steel back at Highever along with the screams of the wounded mixed with howling Mabari. She could smell guts and shit and piss and see…her father dying on the cold floor. To this day, it choked her up and she would have to look away from anyone she was speaking with about it. There was a rage in her soul that she only recently managed to bring to heel. And so, she had learned through painful trial and error that the hasty often ended up dead. She lifted the visor on her sallet helm and turned back. "Steady boys, revenge is a dish best served cold."

Still, there was a struggle in her heart for justice almost to the point where it overcame the mission to free Queen Anora from the mad ambitions of Howe and the Queen's own father, Regent Loghain Mac Tir. Politics…. Politics would destroy Ferelden while the Blight consumed the kingdom. The Warden remembered how her dear father would tell her that only a fool fights over a burning house. She gritted her teeth and clutched at the amulet that the spirit of Teyrn Bryce Cousland gave her in the Temple of Andraste's ashes. He would be remembered. He would be avenged.

Looking over the top of her shield, she began to worry. It had been a while since Zevran went ahead to scout the hallway. She felt that hard earned patience withering on the vine when two people came into view down the hall. Her blood ran cold – They were Howe's men, likely probing their position. She could not let the fiend escape, not this time. She had to fight the urge to charge headlong at the enemy to get to the Arl.

"Maker's breath," she swore quietly. In a moment, they would be discovered and lose the advantage of cover. Could this be a trap? Then, they'd have to fight every inch of the way to Howe. She signaled for Morrigan to move forward. "Can you disable the guards quietly?" she asked the mage.

"I knew that elven fool t'would fail even this simple task," Morrigan whispered into the Warden's ear, her voice dripping with disgust. The mage was about to begin a spell when something shimmered behind the guard.

"Wait," the Warden said as she held her sword arm across Morrigan's chest. One of the guards stopped dead in his tracks as a flash of steel slid across his throat and he slumped into the waiting arms of a blond elf. The other guard turned to see the former Crow smiling, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight. A poisoned dagger plunged into the man's eye.

"It's about damn time," the Warden muttered. Zevran loved to display his talent, something that both annoyed and endeared him to her.

Morrigan merely sighed heavily. "If that fool gets me killed, I swear I shall return from the Fade to make him pay."

In the blink of an eye, Zevran had covered the bodies with a tarp that had been thrown in the hall and had pocketed a purse of coins. He winked at the Warden and beckoned the group to advance towards him. Still in a crouch, Alice moved ahead, Starfang at the ready with faithful Cyrano trotting with her.

As she neared the elf, he took on that practiced carefree stance and shrugged. "What can I say? I like to make a good showing."

The Warden couldn't deny that Zevran made life interesting. She gave him a smirk and a furrowed brow and lowered the visor of her helm. "Where's Leliana?"

"She's up ahead with the arl. Haha, boy does he trust her. She's disarming traps in Howe's room. I've laid some other ones just in front. Then, we create a commotion, Leliana raises a ruckus, the guards, they come out and boom! And, let me tell you, Leliana, she is certainly one who can make a boom…errr, or so I've been told."

The Warden's mood for jokes was thinning rapidly with every inch that she came closer to that odious viper, Rendon Howe. To think that, at one time, a union between the Couslands and the Howes was even possible…that she even considered marrying one of the Arl's sons, Thomas or Nathaniel. A taste of bile rose in her throat. She merely grunted at Zevran and gestured for him to ready his weapons.

It was up to Cyrano now. The Mabari mutt had been with her since he was a pup and he had never let her down. For years, they had upheld the Cousland honor. It would be his revenge too. She rubbed the powerful Kaddis on his coarse fur and tapped him on his beefy shoulders. "It's time, boy," she said and snapped her fingers. On cue, he raised his head and let out a howl that would have raised the walking corpses in Redcliffe once again.

In a few seconds, they could all hear Leliana shouting in that Orlesian accent of hers and the massive wood and iron door swung wide open. Armed guards rushed into the hallway. "Maker's breath, it's the Warden!"

With a tremendous clap of fire, several ceramic jars exploded, flinging jagged shards of metal and pottery into the men. Heat and pressure rippled down the hall and the group had to avert their eyes. In a flash of imagery, the Warden recalled how Zevran would paint 'point this side at the bad guys' on his traps so that he would never make a mistake. One guard was flung back into the wall, metal spikes protruding from his entire front side and another was thrown back into the room. A third fell to the floor, holding his legs and howling in pain. This brought a smile to the Warden's lips.

Several more guards stood, stunned and bleeding and the Warden pumped her fist forward. "Attack!"

Alistair pulled the trigger of his crossbow and a bolt leapt off of the rails, an armored piercing head snapping through the visor of a guard's helmet. There was a scream and the man pitched over backward and lay still. Morrigan leveled her staff and thick arcs of electricity leapt from the tip and sizzled into the staggering soldiers while a wave of green power rolled from Wynne and washed the survivors back.

The Warden raised Starfang and bellowed out a warcry - there was no holding back now. Let Rendon Howe, the self-proclaimed Arl of Denerim and Amaranthine and the Teyrn of Highever know she was coming. Let it be _him_ trapped in a room this time as intruders sacked his castle, wondering if he would live out the hour.

Another guard had stepped into the hall and right into a claw that caught his leg. As he looked down in shock, the point of a thin dagger came up through his ribs from behind. Without a sound, the man slumped to the ground. Leliana was far less flamboyant than Zevran, but she was no less deadly with a dagger, trap, or bow. The bard shrugged at Alice. "I _tried_ to be merciful." Then, she dodged out of the way as another man rushed by her, barely missing Leli with his sword. "I never liked this part!" she hollered as she spun and sliced his hamstrings with her dagger.

The Warden stopped right at the edge of the doorway and heard the panic and commotion in Howe's office. Men were scrambling to get into formation or into firing positions. Someone was trying to shout orders over the clamor and she knew just who that was. Dropping her shield to the side, she pulled out one of Zevran's little toys, a flask filled with some secret Antivan concoction, and flung it into the room. "For Highever!"

The flask burst into some foul green slime and painful shouts and howls followed from inside. Not very sporting the Warden thought, but neither was murdering her parents and nearly everyone she loved as they slept in their beds. If only the living son, Nathaniel were here, she could end the Howe line once and for all. That would be icing on the cake. On her hand signal, Morrigan and Alistair crossed in front of the door, firing another spell and bolt into the room. In the long, agonizing months of fighting the Darkspawn, the Warden had forged the group into a well-oiled machine. She was the first into the door, confident that Leliana had disarmed any nasties that might await them.

The Warden saw a flash and a shaft flew at her and she angled her body slightly. Something thudded against the pauldron on her shoulder and deflected into the wall. She braced down and powered into the archer, slamming him flat on his back. In a well practiced move, Alice uncoiled Starfang's tip like a cobra and bit it right into the archer's solar plexus. But, where was Rendon Howe?

A wild melee broke out in the office as Sten lay about with monstrous overhead cuts and Oghren hacked the legs out from scrambling guards. In another part of the room, a blizzard of frost sprayed from Morrigan's hand into the faces of three guards attempting for form a line of defense. Alistair then jumped in, now wielding King Maric's rune-covered sword, and swung down at one man's head, shattering it into pieces of ice. "Is that death you're wearing? It really suits you!"

Alistair batted an axe down and swung his glowing sword up again, cutting through one knight's gorget. Blood ran down the front of the man's surcoat, staining the pattern of silver and gold behind the bear, _passant_. But then, a dark shape shimmered behind the prince and a gleaming shortsword shot under Alistair's arm, deep into the armpit. The prince staggered to the side and tried to raise his guard, but another blow fell on his helmet, breaking the visor. Cyrano lunged at the attacker, but another shortsword found his chest. There was a yelp and the hound fell, whimpering.

Alice's blood froze in her heart. She knew who was behind the attack and she could not lose two more loved ones to that man. She ran and put herself between Rendon Howe, her hound and man that she loved. "Alistair! Are you...?"

The prince struggled to stand, but slipped in his own blood, coughing and cradling his left arm. "Injured? As in me? Owwww," he said, trying to make light of it. His face was already pale.

"Wynne, get in here! We need your help."

Howe chuckled, swishing his two shortswords as his remaining guards and the last mage surrounded him. "Oh, Maker…this is touching. Gosh, it feels like we're back in Highever, making merry once more. Sorry about the puppy. And so sorry about the dog too. Things have a way of dying around me. Poison and all that rot."

"No!" Morrigan and Wynne helped Alistair back while Sten hefted Cyrano up in one arm. Alice made a move on Howe, but he held up his hand.

"Tsk tsk, don't want to break the antidote, do you? You know, I've got a wedding to attend…my own. How about you let me get to that and I give you the vial? Come on now, girl, time's a wasting. Tick tock tick tock," he said in imitation of the great pendulum clocks that were imported from Orlais and the Imperium.

Alice looked back at her wounded friends and Alistair was beginning to convulse. This was not the way she envisioned this ending. How could such a choice be laid upon her shoulders? The arl gave her that _I'm waiting_ look and let out a sigh.

"Is this still about your family? You're out of options, girl. The Couslands are done. You'll be lucky to go mad and die, surrounded by Darkspawn…maybe even become one of them. That would be precious to see you all warped and slobbering on the floor. Perhaps you could even become a broodmother. I've heard about those, all bloated and disgusting, just a hole for the beasts to breed in. Now, get out of my way. I won't say it again."

Her breathing was shallow and rapid now and her skin clammy. Cold sweat stained the palms of her leather gloves beneath her dragonbone gauntlets. Her armor weighed down on her like the Archdemon himself rode on her back. She closed her eyes and sighed, her hands shaking with impotent rage.

"Fuck you."

Starfang's tip sliced across the mage's throat and the man grasped his neck with both hands, blood spurting from between his fingers. The momentum of the sword continued back and overhead and then down, splitting a knight's helmet and the head beneath, in two. Alice then rocked back on her rear leg, taking a high guard, tip low and aimed at Howe's belly.

Howe's eyes widened as two of his men hit the floor, one right after the other. "Fine, if you want your friends to die, then so be it. It's on your head."

Oghren and Sten made a move, but the Warden waved them back. "No one touches this man but me while he yet lives." She pushed fearful imaginings of Alistair and Cyrano's corpses out of her mind. She would sacrifice all right now.

Howe stepped forward ahead of his last two men. His leather armor had been hastily strapped on over his white wedding doublet, now stained with Alistair and Cyrano's blood. He shuffled cautiously forward, the tips of his two swords bouncing up and down, probing for weaknesses. "Good, a dance for only the two of us. Just like your mother, I'll have you lick my boots too."

The Warden let out a feral yell, all of her patience unraveling in a second. She whipped her blade around her head, but Howe dodged out of the way and Starfang clove through part of the arl's desk, throwing up wooden splinters. She thrust at his throat, but he angled her sword up with one of his and swatted her on the arm with the other, the vambrace just stopping the blow from cutting skin. She shuffled back, resuming a defensive stance. Howe was getting inside of her head.

The arl chuckled again, swishing his swords and pacing like a tiger. "Tick tock tick tock, dear girl. The last of the Theirin's is not looking too healthy. Oh, well, maybe he planted a new one in you…or maybe it was the dog."

He was really getting in her head and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She shifted into an aggressive stance and lunged, flinging the blade towards his head. Howe met the attack and batted away everything she could throw at him, despite her fury. Her breathing now came in ragged gasps and she roasted inside her armor as the arl led her around the room like a circus pony. Waves of heat wafted up into her sallet helm as she swung again, cutting nothing but air.

"Whoa, that was close," Howe said mockingly with a laugh. "You almost got me. Bryce almost got me too…almost. You should have seen him, dragged down like a sack of potatoes at the end. But, you missed that part, didn't you? Fled the castle, right? Oh my, bet you regret that. Wish you could have that time back, huh? Now, it seems that I've got all the time in the world. Tick tock, girl."

Again she attacked and Howe deflected, throwing her into the desk, scattering papers and quills. Two blows rained down on her helmet in rapid succession. She barely raised her guard to parry a third. She jumped back and it seemed like her head would explode if she didn't get air immediately. Flicking off the straps of her helmet, she flung it away, letting the heat roll off of her face. Her chest heaved with exertion. This was not working. Her mind raced with worthless ideas, looking for some advantage, any advantage. Duncan…and Master Aedan, her sword instructor…. Why didn't she think of this before? Why did she throw away all of that training? For what? Because of a crazy sense of vengeance? She was about to sacrifice everything she now held dear. Howe was right, she was a fool.

She sheathed her sword and put her hands on her hips, taking a relaxed breath, letting her shoulders settle. For weeks before Ostagar, she had fenced Duncan, facing off against his two sword style. He would just block with one and cut with the other. But, there was a way around this.

Howe seemed perplexed and he probed for some reaction, but found none. Now, there was nothing to block or swat away. He snorted.

Alice unfocused her eyes, letting the arl's image blur slightly, but now, every movement and every angle came into clarity. It was time to counter. "Rendon, when I get my hands on that lovely son of yours, Nathaniel, I'll see that he rots in the deepest dungeon. Maybe I'll drag his body through the streets behind my horse. I can see Amaranthine burning already."

"Don't you touch my family!"

"Hit a nerve, have we?"

"My son is all I have left. You leave him out of this. He had nothing to do with any of it!"

The Warden felt vibration in the air and the distance between them changing. She saw two flashes of steel coming towards her and Starfang flew from the scabbard in an upward arc. One of Howe's swords clattered to the ground along with a hand. The momentum of the cut brought Starfang around and the razor edge found the arl's leather pauldron, slicing the cured rawhide like a rare steak. Alice dragged the tip through flesh and bone, turning the blade flat so it gouged a cruel trough down to Howe's hip on its way out.

It was done. She flicked the blade, sending blood spraying out from the tip as Howe collapsed to his knees. She pointed to the arl's last two knights and motioned to the wall. "Kiss the stone if you want to live." There was no resistance. In a flash, Starfang was back in its sheath.

Howe rolled over, cradling his stump and covering his ruined chest. He was gulping, gasping for air. Alice took his other sword and slid it to Sten. "It's over, Rendon. Give me the antidote. Take some kind of honor with you into the Fade."

He coughed and then convulsed violently, his eyes rolling back for a moment. "I…my family…promise me…you won't…."

Alice took his good hand. For months she went to sleep every night with the vision of her poignard in Howe's eye. Until Alistair, it was all she had lived for. She had been no better than the arl or Loghain, leaving a swath of bodies and lines of heads on pikes to announce her vengeance. The legend of "Bloody Cousland" cowed opposition as effectively as her enemies had. In the eyes of the Maker, she deserved damnation as much as they. When would it ever end? "I give you my promise, Rendon. I will treat your family fairly. I will show them mercy."

His chest shuddered and he tried to reach down into his doublet. "It's…it's in my pocket. Heal…heal your hound and your prince."

She pulled the vial from his doublet and handed it to Wynne, who confirmed it was healing and then rushed back to Alistair and Cyrano. The urge to slit his throat was still nearly overpowering, but the Warden could not bring herself to do it. This was not how she envisioned this ending. She sighed. "Go to your rest, Rendon. I will bring no harm to your family."

Unexpected tears streamed down his face. "I…I always thought that I…I deserved more. I'm so…so sorry. I don't want to die."

Alice grasped his hand again and he spasmed, his breathing shallow and rapid, his skin white and clammy. He squeezed hard and she could feel her hated enemy's lifeblood staining her green tabard, coating the double-headed griffon and the raindrop of Highever in deep crimson and the feeling was hollow.

He wheezed pathetically once more as his eyes lost focus. "I don't want to die."

And then it was done.

The Warden let Howe sink to the floor and she rushed back to see Alistair and Cyrano. They had already drunk of the vial and she looked desperately into Wynne's eyes for any sign, any reassurance. The old mage smiled. "They'll be fine, dear. We got to them just in time," Wynne said and then her face filled with concern. She reached up to the Warden's forehead. "Oh dear, you're hurt. Howe got you a good one."

It was only then that Alice felt the sting of the slice above her eyebrow or even noticed the blood on her face. It had barely registered that she had been cut in the final exchange of blows. In spite of the pain, she grabbed Alistair's hands. He was still pale and his lips still blue. "I'm so sorry. I almost lost you both. I was willing to throw it all away. Oh, Maker…." Her upper lip quivered and she fought to keep breathing.

Alistair glanced around as if he were lost. "What? We won? Yay."

The Warden tried to laugh. A short chuckle came out before the flood of emotion washed over her. She grabbed onto the amulet that her ghostly father had given her in the Temple of Andraste and she buried her head on Alistair's chest. "Forgive me. I almost…." All she could do is rock back and forth, sobbing as she did that day she and Duncan arrived in Ostagar. There had been too much water behind the dam and the dam finally broke. She felt a gentle hand stroke her matted hair.

"Oh Alice, you're hurt…your head. Are you…?"

The cut now throbbed, mixing in with her emotional misery. She thought she would be elated, having played out a million death scenarios for Howe, but now there was nothing, only a concern for her love and her friends. She stroked Cyrano's fur and he weakly wagged his stubby tail. "Injured? What me? Ow."

"We need to get Wynne to heal that. It'll leave a nasty scar."

"Then leave it. It's what I need to remember this by. It's for my family."

"Oh, then it will make you look all the more fierce. Rarrwr," he said as he made a weak clawing gesture. "The Archdemon is sure to turn tail and run. I surely would."

"Would you?"

"No…oh, no, I didn't mean _me_, per se. I meant like the Darkspawn, demons, abominations, those sorts of _me_'s. You know…."

Alice wiped her cheeks and nose with the gloved palm of her hand. She looked into Alistair's eyes and giggled softly. "Oh Maker, you're so silly. If I could just rest here a while in your arms it will all be okay." She laid her head back down on his chest and sighed. Nearby, Leliana prodded the prisoners.

"Ugh, look at your shoes," the bard declared, tapping one of the knight's boots with her sword. "Were you drunk or do you just have bad taste?"

Alice looked up to see Morrigan staring down at them. Disgust was written on her face and she drummed her fingers on the wall. "Oh yes, why don't we all just take a nap now and, as the dwarf would say, play kissy face? I have an urgent news flash from the town crier…there are more guards coming and that odious Cauthrien is leading them."

The Warden struggled to her feet, still feeling dizzy. She guided Alistair to the rear. He was in no shape to fight right now and a few days of healing lay ahead for him. Cyrano hopped up, but limped on one forepaw. Nearly all of them were wounded. How would they ever rescue the Queen or even get out of this place for that matter? As she rallied the group together, she noticed that the dark-haired woman from the torture chamber was gone. Marjorie…Margo…. She looked so familiar through that sheen of blood and sweat.

"Oh, no…that was Marjolaine. Uhhh, Leliana, you're not going to like this."


End file.
